


Monsters In The Fog

by Magneta_K



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Crimes & Criminals, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Mystery, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 67,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magneta_K/pseuds/Magneta_K
Summary: Detective Korra Waters is the youngest homicide detective in the city. But during a night investigating the questionable disappearance of a suspect, she has an encounter with a mysterious woman and a tantalizing new drug.
Relationships: Jinora/Kai (Avatar), Korra/Asami Sato
Comments: 73
Kudos: 293





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope you enjoy the story.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Updates every Thursday. A week or two in between.

Any day spent chasing a shadow walker down the streets of Downtown Republic City wasn’t likely to end well.

In fact, any day spent chasing anyone down the streets of Downtown Republic City wasn’t likely to end well.

Although she couldn’t blame the mugs for bolting the first chance they got, half the time she wasn’t trying to arrest them.

Bolin was having none of it.

Korra had tried the subtle approach but then realized that there was nothing subtle about riding up on a thousand pound polar bear-dog, which meant the kid sprinted off right across traffic the second he saw her. She would have chased him on Naga if not for the narrow street corners he took; sending the animal trotting home, displeased.

They passed run-down pawn shops, liquor stores, dingy supermarkets, restaurants, takeaways—the kid kept going. _Like he’d get away._ An athlete in her own right, Korra was a strong runner. You’d need a good head start to lose her, and even then she’d still catch you. Bolin ran a good mile before she closed the distance. The sound of his running shoes urgent on the broad footpath's. Her own footfalls padded on the icy sidewalk as she did her best not to slip. Ahead, she saw the boy’s chest rising and falling in panicked breaths. Eyes darting left and right seeking signs of escape.

“Bolin!” She yelled, gunning towards him. Startled, he ran for a dark alley. Korra grit her teeth. If she lost him, all this cardio would’ve been for nothing, adding to a lackluster evening.

_Why did they always have to run? Couldn’t they just speed-walk? Slowly._

Rounding the corner after him, she saw the boy’s form shift in the darkness.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

The detective threw herself at the boy, tackling him to the ground before he melted into the shadows. They fell roughly onto the filthy concrete, scaring an alley-cat and agitating a few lurking roaches.

Korra pinned Bolin to the ground, digging into his broad shouldered framed. Dissipate and I’ll have you siphoned,” she warned.

He grunted quietly, understanding the threat. It was shameful at best to have your powers stricken, especially by a copper. Obligingly, what was shadow solidified into a plad hand, which he withdrew from the darkness. He lay still, palms flattend on the ground, but Korra pressed him down with a knee to the back for good measure.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow…” he howled. “Why are you—”

“Relax, I just wanna talk.”

He squirmed underneath her. “Talk about what? I haven’t even done anything. You know this is called police brutality right!?”

She nudged him a bit. “Stop squirming.”

“How can I? You’re heavier than an elephant rhino!”

She smacked him upside the head. “Stop. Squirming.”

“Ow! Okay, jeez,” he moaned, then settled on the dirty cobble.

“Good. Now, where’s your brother?”

He snorted. “Like I’d tell you. You know, I used to think you were kind of hot. Now you’re ju—ouch!” He let out a tiny squeak when she applied a bit of pressure with her knee.

“Won’t ask twice, kid.”

“I haven’t…seen…him.”

“Don’t lie to me, Bo. Covering for him will only make this worse.”

“I’m…not," he grunted. “You don’t think I’ve been looking for him too? Mako’s gone off the grid before, but this time’s different. Usually, he finds a way to check-in, a bottled message or omething, but my calls keep going to voicemail and I haven’t seen him in three weeks.”

“Is that all?”

He nodded.

Korra cursed under her breath.

What now? She was running out of viable options—legal ones anyway.

After last months unfortunate incident, Korra had been working Mako for months. They were bound for court, with the case depending strongly on his testimony. Inevitably, it would burst open the dam of evidence piling up on her desk and get the Chief off her back for side-lining her other cases. They were important, of course, but two years of tedious investigation would go down the drain if she couldn’t find her key witness.

Formerly neck deep in the affairs of The Triple Threat Triad, Mako was her way into the organized crime syndicate. But the problem? Bolt was organized as hell. He had a network that moved the city's major drug—Dust—as smooth and fast as he cut it. The Republic City police were in line behind the Organized Crime Strike Force to use Mako as a way to nail the ‘Big Fish’ to the wall. The Justice Department wanted to talk to him about Shady Shin's connection with the Black Quarry Boar-q-pines basketball player Toza, whom Shin had supposedly bribed in a point-shaving scheme. Treasury agents were looking for the crates of automatic weapons and Fire Nation mines the Triple Threats had stolen from a Cabbage Corp armory. And the district attorney wanted him arraigned for the involvement in the death of a well known senator.

Mako had grown up in the Triad. He knew how it worked. He knew who oiled the machinery. He knew, literally, where the bodies were buried. If he talked, the police knew that Mako could give them the key to dozens of indictments and convictions. And even if he didn’t talk, he new that his _old_ friends would sinch him out to keep him quiet.

Under the circumstances, he made his decision: he became part of the Republic Department’s Federal Witness Program. They had him on a tracker, with the agreement to keep his family safe and out if it all. This case was as important to him as it was to the department. It would keep him clear of the orange-clad jumpsuit, and a step towards keeping straight for good by getting his life back on track. He had people depending on him.

Now out of blue he'd disappeared. Mako wouldn’t have been irrational enough to go back on their deal and fall in with his old crowd again. Korra hoped with everything she had thay nothing bad had happened to him, but it was beginning to thin out.

Bolin shifted on the cold concrete, drawing her attention. “Can I get up now? If you don’t kill me, the smell will. This is sort of my favorite green shirt.”

“Sorry ‘bout that," she said, sympathetically.

She patted him down before she released him, and He stood, rubbing his elbow.

“Would it have hurt any less if I hadn’t run?” he asked. 

The detective frowned and shook her head.

He shrugged, brushing dirt off the front of his shirt. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse,” he said. “Anyway, why can’t you just track him?”

“You think I’d be tackling you if I could track him?”

Bolin shifted his weight nervously. “I guess not.”

Korra lifted her head and inhaled deeply. "it's okay. Just get home, kid."

He didn't need much persuading. Turning to leave, he cast her a single terrified glance over his shoulder then sprinted off around the corner.

Korra checked her watch under the orange glow of a streetlamp: 23.46.

The dead ends were piling up, but there was time enough for one more stop.

Once out the back alley, she slipped into the thick crowd. She could smell her own sweat.

A cold chill had surprised the city this week, the last beat of winter before the spring began. Still, the streets were no different than any other day. People simply threw on thick winter coats and stamped their feet against the biting cold. The inner city that grew out of the cracked grey sidewalk like a twisted vine snaking up a jagged tree. The only splash of color in the grunge coming from the neon signs that burst like fireworks in the cold winter-freeze and the lurid graffiti projected onto brick buildings. By night, the Downtown district belonged to the pimps and the drug dealers. Even the cops stayed away unless there was a complaint.

Hell, Korra knew a few who shunned the very epitome of justice and authority to get their way for a few extra bucks.

At night, you could be anybody and no one cared who you really were. The street itself was a playground for the nasty. Monsters were scary, sure. Discomforting in appearance and wretched in smell—the one's that didn't believe in personal hygiene, anyway. But no, it wasn't the ones you could spot a mile off. The truly scary ones smacked you on the back with a polite smile whilst asking you for directions, then conked you over the head with a menacing grin after you dropped your guard.

Nice guys were the meanest. A Republic City life lesson.

Korra turned down a narrow lane that led to Yue Bay, Downtown R.C melted into the Barcs. Streetlamps lessened, drunk dock workers shuffled from pubs on uneasy legs, short skirts and long legs tempted vices, and demon-spawn huddled near betting shops where men could lose an entire months pay in five minutes. Where unearthly shrieks and cries came from the gutters where people sat down on the cold littered floor begging for money, suspicious of even their own noses. It was a vile sort of place, the Barcs. Caution was everything. Pass through with your head down, eyes sharp and hands tucked close. No one came here with anything wholesome in mind, which was exactly why she would find what she was looking for here.

Korra kept under the flickering pockets of light cast by the streetlamps, pulled up her jacket collar and tucked her badge into a pocket. Then there she saw it. A runty bar deemed the Mute Duck. Just another two-storied building in the worst part of the Barcs, pinched between an old bakery and a run-down deli. The only time the bar was actually quiet was in the early morning and slow hours of the afternoon. Tonight, it was rowdy with hundreds of slurred conversations told in loud voices.

“Outta me way, mate,” growled a harsh-looking docker, shoving Korra rudely aside as he stepped out through the crooked doorway, stumbling off into the night.

“Excuse you,” she mumbled and entered the dingy tavern.

Heaving with rough laughter and reeking of beer, sea salt, and grilled steak, the crowd of pink-necked ruffians thumped beer glasses in singsong on the wooden tables, boasting sinister fashion about their day’s activities. All sorts of enigmatic meta's and humans rounded the tables, and unless you were asking for trouble, it was best to roll with the energy of the crowd

Korra spied Bumi behind the bar in a dirty apron worn over faded jeams, the wolf acknowledging her by raising a hand in greeting A welcoming smile painting his face. With his dishevelled hair, less-than-designer stubble and perpetually creased dress shirts rolled up by the sleeves, he somehow looked like a delinquent student who had been plucked out of high school and thrust unwillingly into adult life.

From the time Korra spent with him, his life consisted of sustained bouts of drinking—about which he was always willing to provide a lengthy tale—and the occasional weekend spent with his family whenever Tenzin and Pema hosted dinner.

“Come to pay your tab?" He said, whilst wiping down a glass. "Or are you back for one of my stories?”

Korra sat down on a wooden stool bulked against the brass foot railing at the high counter. The last one about the rock-throwing contest went on for hours. Let’s not go through that again.”

Bumi feigned hurt, clutching his chest. “But you told me you liked that story!”

She chuckled at his grandeur reaction. “Was I drunk when I said that?”

He huffed, knowing full well she was. “If you’re not here for my stories, or to pay your tab, then why are you here?”

“The whiskey, obviously." Korra had visited plenty of bars whilst hunting information from murderers, thieves, thugs and con men, or whenever she was off duty and needed the distraction. Yet somehow Bumi had the best cheap whiskey this side of the docks. He swore it wasn’t anything special. She knew better. All his stories could account for that.

Four should do it,” she gestured.

“You’re lucky you’re good for it," Bumi said, pouring her a glass. She drained it, relishing in the way the hard liquor took that keen edge off and signaled for more.

“Wow. Rough night?” He inquired, pouring her another.

“More of this and I’ll be right as rain," she said, swirling the brown liquor thoughtfully.

Bumi made a face. “More of that, and I’ll be ordering new tables again.”

Korra winced and tossed back her drink. 2 “That was one time, and I only broke a few tables.”

“A few tables!? You barrelled six of my regulars for booing you off the stage!”

“They were asking for it. Besides, who doesn’t love a good old bar brawl?” It was fairly obvious that she sure did.

“You’re repeating yourself! That’s the same thing you said on Karaoke night!”

“Oh, please. I blew the roof off this place that night.”

“I’m just not sure”—he poured her another drink—“that you’re taking this seriously.”

Korra downed it. 3 “Why would you think that?" she said, feeling rather light. "I take everything seriously.”

“Because," Bumi said slowly, "you’re as tone-deaf as a badgermole!”

“Badgermole’s are blind, and I’m not that bad a singer.”

Bumi made a short, chortling sound. “Like I said, tone-deaf.”

They’re startled by the sound of glass breaking. Korra peers over her shoulder to see the crowd whooping and roaring with filthy delight as a fight broke out between a portly, pink-faced man and a manky, white-bearded docker trying his luck. Both were completely drunk, completely mad and itching to pummel the other.

A scrawny woman yelled, ‘Make ‘im dance, Tongs! Make ‘im dance!’ Much to Korra’s amusement.

Korra's mouth twitched into a small smirk as she stifled a chuckle. “Glad I didn’t start that one. Tongs looks as heavy as a hundred watermelons.”

Bumi scowled, unamused. He leaped over the counter said, “I’ll be right back," and launched tight into the scuffle. "HEY! YOU! PUT THAT DOWN!—NOT ON HIS FACE!!” It was pretty much chaos from then on. Korra was fairly certain the bartender broke a table or two himself in the midst of dealing with the commotion. Not to mention a few bones.

Minutes later Bumi jumped back over the counter, flushed and cursing under his breath. “Fucking tosspots don’t know how to hold their liquor," he grumbled sourly.

“And you were worried about me wrecking your tables,” Korra snickered.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, twisting his left shoulder. “So, you never answered my question. Why _are_ you here?”

“I just sat down and you’re already trying to get rid of me.”

Bumi directed his scowl at her. “You smell like piss and shadow walker. If you're staying, I’m inclined to ask if you’re going to stink up my bar for the rest of the night because I’m trying to run a business here.” His voice—usually good-humored and light—lowered to a deeper depth. She could tell by the vein almost popping in his temple that their light banter had ended.

4 The whiskey burned down her throat. “I need a mechanic," she said dryly. "I was hoping—”

“Rush hour was three hours ago,” Bumi cut her off. “You just missed them.”

“Missed them? No, way. I’m sure there’s a straggler or two spilling his guts around here somewhere.”

Bumi opened his mouth to speak when a hailing customer, who was childishly pounding their hand on the counter, drew his attention. Korra watched the bartender dab at a spill, refill their drink, then stand in front of the detective, arms crossed stiffly. For a moment his face looked pinched, and there was a hesitancy in his fiery blue eyes. An indecisive Bumi was a rare treat, and quite surprisingly baffling to Korra.

Still, she tried not to nudge him, tampering down her frustration and waiting patiently. Bumi tapped his finger furiously on a bicep, all the while gazing out a grimy window. After what felt like an hour, he sighed and pointed to her left.

The detective turned in her seat. Attention set on a booth in the far corner where a woman sat alone, cloaked by the dim lighting and a hooded overcoat. All—save for ruby red lips and pale skin—hidden.

“Human?” Korra asked.

Bumi nodded. “She hasn’t moved since rush-hour. No drink, just water every time. Like she’s waiting for someone.”

_At this hour, did she still expect whoever stood her up to show?_

Korra tossed a twenty on the bar and thumped her glass on top of it. “This should cover my tab—keep the change.”

“Hey," Bumi said, looking her in the eye. "Be careful with that one. Doesn’t smell right.” He sounded nervous.

She spared a glance at the woman then raised a brow at Bumi—who'd run off to deal with another howling customer. Big guy like him, very little could scare him. Despite the endearing gesture, she dismissed it and strode over. The detective eyed the woman curiously, though she paid Korra no mind, even as she approached.

She stopped at the table, mouth curving into a smile. “Mind if I join?”

“Yes," the woman said, eyeing up Korra's appearance with casual nonchalance.

“That’s a pity, I’m good company.”

The woman grunted in response and Korra tried not to frown. It wasn't easy. “What's a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

“You’re here.”

“Maybe I’m just passing through.”

"Sure," said the woman.

Her manner seemed sullen and it was getting on Korra's nerves. The detective nailed her with a look and let a silence fall, hoping her discomfort would generate further comment. No such luck. Orra glanced around the melodious bar, then leaned across the table. “It’s a bit noisy in here, maybe we could—”

“I don’t suppose you could go bother someone else?” Red lips cut off, her voice was velvety, deliberate and controlled. “I don’t have time for half-drunk coppers.”

"I heard half-drunk coppers are the best kind of company. Or should I ask one of the boys to keep you company?”

The woman pursed her lips. “Is that a threat, detective?”

“You’d know if I were threatening you.”

“How quaint.”

 _Bingo!_ There it was, that hint of class that lingered whenever she spoke. Glad to have caught something, a cool smile curled the detective's lips and she sat down uninvited.

“What’s a city girl like you doing all the way down here? Take a wrong turn?”

The woman tensed. “What’s it to you?”

“Mysterious women tend to draw attention to themselves. Wild things are everywhere, you know?”

At that comment, the woman tried discreetly to nudge her hood forward. Her hands drew Korra’s attention. The right, white-knuckled from clenching her drink too hard. The left fisted in restraint. She noticed a dark stain between the left thumb and forefinger. Long since dried around her callouses.

Korra casually leaned back in her seat. Perhaps getting straight to the point would work better with her cold companion. "I hear you’re a mechanic. You any good?”

“Why?"

“I may need your level of expertise.”

"In what, flattery? Because you're failing so miserably?” 

Korrara clenched her jaw. _Like pulling teeth._ She’d never wanted to smack anyone as much as she wanted to smack this woman right at this moment She fished a small black device out her back pocket, setting it on the table. “What can you do with this?”

“Hope it makes you go away?”

_Was that a sneer? Spoiled little—_

“I'm not going anywhere. Can you fix this to track a lost signal?”

"Lose something important, detective?"

“Stop answering my questions with questions."

The woman sipped her drink and surveyed Korra for a long moment as if pretending to agonize over what to do. "If you leave, I just might."

"Like I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

A beat passed.Two beats. A pay-off would go a long way, but being short on cash and nothing to offer someone this…reticent, not many options where left. She didn’t have the time to do this dance.

"Look. If you help me, l'll be out of your hair and you can get back to your late night brooding."

“And if I don’t help you?”

Korra set her badge on the table. The gold and blue symbol standing out against the stark environment. “Then maybe I won't ask so nicely in a few minutes. Either way, you're coming with me.” She rose.

The woman peered up at her from beneath the shadow of her hood. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

"Why not? You’ve clearly been stood up. No point hanging around this dump."

When the woman made no move to stand, Korra roughly yanked her up by the arm and the hood fell, revealing furious green eyes, pale skin red from suppressed rage, and a pretty face. The detective didn’t try to hide the surprise on her face. She had about a dozen questions dancing on the tip of her tongue.

“You’re—”

“Nobody!” The woman hissed. “Now remove your hand or I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it.”

For some reason Korra would like to see her try, laughing at the threat. “Now I’m curious, did you actually take a wrong turn, or are you just stupid?”

Frightened panic flashed across the woman's face as she fought against Korra's vice-like grip. "You don’t know who—”

The detective held up a finger. “I do, actually.” She closed in the distance between the mechanic and herself. Her voice lowered, almost to a whisper. “And if even one thug here recognizes you, the daughter of one of the most hated men in the city, you’ll leave the Barcs in a body-bag instead of with me.”

Green eyes widened for a second before narrowing in anger and Korra stepped back with a smile. “So, ladies first?”

*

_Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap…_

“Taking your sweet time are you?”

A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of Asami’s right eye. She turned to glare at her captor, who leaned casually against the doorway, impatiently tapping her foot on the tile floor. “Since you're so vocal, why don’t you do it yourself?”

The blue-eyes woman shrugged. “It’s not like its rocket science.”

“Like you would know,” Asami muttered and turned back to her work.

Besides the fact that the detective could in fact do this herself, this was all a waste of time.

If she remembered correctly all ankle monitors were monitored from the Future Industries Tech building (she helped design them after all), and a parole officer could easily access the Website from a desktop computer. It was round the clock surveillance. Turn one screw, violate one guideline, and the cops would be all over you like a scorpion bee’s nest.

Rubbing tired eyes, Asami shifted uncomfortably in the worn leather chair. The makeshift office was stuffy, windowless and smelled like body odor and hamburger meat. Other than a shelf hosting stacks of magazines, it housed a desk, two chairs, a ruddy couch with neatly folded blankets on it, and something she hoped was spilled milk on the wall.

She’d already spent the last hour re-configuring the GPS handed to her. Like any good puzzle, she’d just have to take the pieces out and see how they fit back together for herself. A few tweaks would have it working like the computers at FIT—Future Industries Tech. Miniature, but usueful. A simple task made increasingly difficult by—

_Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap…_

She clenched her jaw.

Today’s errand had meant to be routine, and although this was not how she intended to spend her Thursday night, she had to stay calm. Maybe be angry about other things. Like why it didn’t occur to her that someone being three hours late meant that they had flaked. It was agreed upon that the buyer would come, she’d hand over the glove, and take the money. Not spend hours warding off handsy drunks acting like high-schoolers in a musty…

_Tap! Tap! Tap! Ta—_

“Will you please stop! I’m trying to work!” She snapped. The blue-eyed detective was already rubbing her the wrong way, and she felt a flicker of irritation, which seemed to swell when the woman waved a dismissive hand.

“Are you done?”

The device beeped to life. _Thank, Raava ._

Without answer, Asami tossed the device at the detective. Blue-eyes caught it with one hand, flipped it, and frowned. “What did you do to this thing?”

“Nothing. I just re-calibrated the…never mind.” _Like the air-head would understand._ The mechanic packed up her tools and rose. “I’d like to leave now.”

“Why does it look like this?” Blue-eyes asked.

Bag slung over her shoulder, Asami looked down at the woman blocking her path. “You’re in my way.”

“Where are the buttons?”

 _Buttons? Who still used buttons?_ “Move. I’m leaving.”

“No.” Blue-eyes tossed the device back at Asami, who fumbled before catching it.

She looked at it in bemusement. “What do you mean no?”

“Exactly what I said,” the detective said, staring at her. A level gaze. Not friendly. 

Asami stared back. "This is insane. I just want to leave."

"And I said no."

"I got that," Asami ground out. "You can’t just drag me into—” she sought the words “—whatever this is. I’m a civilian.”

“If you want I can make you an honorary police consultant or whatever," said the detective, "but this is important and you’re coming with me. Only one of us knows how to use that thing and that happens to be you."

Asami breathed through her nose, inwardly seething, then said, “No."

The other woman eyed her with an impassive look. “Listen, Sato,” she started firmly, "the sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get you home.”

_Get me home?_

Her eyes widened. Home. No. No. No. No. Not before she had what she came for. The buyer, the glove…

No, she couldn’t possibly go home now. This copper, who stood between her and the only exit, was ruining her plans. Asami’s eyes flicked around the room. Scattered paperwork, old magazines, empty wrappers—it was all just a heaping mess of non-essentials. What would she have done, anyway? A few inches had her towering over the detective, but the muscles beneath her jacket molded clear and defined against the leather. If Asami somehow, someway could—

Fingers clicked, startling her. “Hey, princess, my eyes are up here.” The woman gestured to her face.

Asami’s cheeks heated. She’d been caught staring. She cleared her throat and spoke evenly. “You’re being unreasonable, here. I did what you wanted, so now I'd ust like to leave.”

"I said no." The woman crossed her arms.

Asami crossed her arms. She prided herself on maintaining her composure, especially during negotiations, but she found her composure thinning at what the detective was suggesting. She had to get away from this woman. One minute the detective had her blushing and the next she had her wanting to commit murder. The floor was practically already stained in blood.

“What if we strike a deal?” she suggested. The detective's brow quirked. “If I help you navigate the GPS, you have to promise to let me go afterward.”

Blue-eyes shook her head. “No can do. I don’t want to be scraping you off the sidewalk the next morning. You help me, I take you home. That’s that.”

“No," Asami protested.

“Yes.”

“No.”

"Yes."

"No."

“This is getting annoying. My mind is set. Plead all you want, but nothings going to change it."

For Asami, continuing to argue seemed an option; if only her head didn’t hurt. Her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to back out of this situation, but she couldn’t think of a way to get rid of the detective. A solution to her dilemma ran off the top of her, and although hesitant, she grasped at whatever straw she was given.

She sighed. "May I at least know the name of my captor?”

“Detective Korra Waters.” Korra introduced, holding out a hand. Asami shook it—tan, calloused and raw against her own skin.

“Asami Sato, but you already know that.”

Korra nodded. “Now that we’re past the pleasantries…” she gestured for Asami to take the lead. Shall we?

*

It was a cold, damp night, but it was a short walk, shorter than they expected, and not a word had passed between them. What could you say to the person forcing you into an unwanted situation?

Asami looked behind her frequently as if expecting someone to jump out at them as they walked down the deserted street. Her nerves ran thin. So she kept close, wary of their surroundings. Now and then glancing at the detective to steady herself. The GPS had led them to a condemned building near the docks a block from the bar. It was tall and dark and creepy. You didn’t have to be a _meta_ to know it didn’t smell right in there. Even with the salty sea air, the sour stench of rotting flesh radiated from inside.

Asami licked her lips nervously. “I’m not going in there.”

“You’ve made it this far,” Korra said. “Besides, you have the GPS.”

"I’m still not going in there.”

“Someone might be hurt. Would you rather stand out here and wait?”

“Hurt?" The mechanic couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you serious right now?” The stoic look the detective gave her spoke volumes. She was dead serious, but at this moment, Asami thought she was just being plain stupid. “It smells like death in there. I’m not going in.” She shook her head.

Korra stared at her curiously for a moment. Asami hoped that the look on her face meant that they could leave right this moment and never see each other again. Instead, she said, “You can smell that?”

The mechanic blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be able to smell that?”

The detective opened her mouth, then closed it. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going in.”

“Wait a minute!” Asami hissed. “I have to think about this.” She looked back at the empty street then gazed up at the building. What with the monsters roaming the city, the dark doorway looked like a giant’s mouth.

“Hurry up,” Korra prompted.

“One second!” If going in there meant certain impending doom, she’d like to think it through first. It wasn’t like she had anything important waiting for her back home, but losing her head was not on her mental checklist for the day.

The detective tapped out an impatient rhythm, eventually giving into her impatience. “I’ll be waiting inside when you decide to join me,” she said and disappeared through the doorway.

 _For the love of_ Raava _, what is wrong with this woman?_ Asami took one final look at the empty streets, then faced forward and walked in.

The rank smell was even worse on the inside—like a million dead rats piled atop one another. A huge hole gaped in the collapsed ceiling, crusty paint peeled from the walls, old lighting fixtures riddled with cobwebs, ugly paintings hung askew. The whole building sent chills down her spine and reminded her of something out of her nightmares. She wrapped an arm around her waist. She did not want to be here. This is the last place she wanted to be.

“Which way?”

The mechanic pointed to the left. Stepping around debris, they started up a staircase at the side of the room, picking a path through the trash and rat feces, and avoiding the hanging loops of wiring sticking out of the walls like thorns. The stairs creaked unpleasantly under her boots.

Every few steps she would stop and listen, praying to hear nothing but the building creak and the waves crash—much to the detective’s annoyance. 

Korra shone her flashlight around the space, carving a circle in the darkness. Beyond that circle was unseen frontier; Asami could feel her breaths coming too fast. The soupy air, made her feel entombed. She almost jumped when something skittered past her ankles.

She exhaled a shallow breath and trekked on.

The air became more soupy, harder to breathe the more the climbed. It was tedious at first, until they stopped on the fourth floor, where the signal last pinged. There was nothing there but a wide expanse of broken plaster, torn up floor and…

Asami paled.

They lay like dolls on the floor, limbs missing or at awkward angles, necks torn open, dry blood pooled around their lifeless bodies. She spotted rodents gnawing down to the bone. She stared, but did not believe what she was looking at. She took a step toward it, l horror mounting as she moved closer. So many of them...

And the smell. The smell was the most disgusting thing she had ever encountered. Asami turned away as her gut lurched, and a churning mixture of digestive fluids and this afternoon’s lunch filled her mouth. Barely able to breathe in the murky darkness devoid of life, she keeled over, heaving. Her eyes watered, heart pounding as one question continued to race through her mind: _Who did this? What monster would—_

She jumped suddenly, startling the detective who somehow bore nothing but nonchalance at the sight. “It’s just the GPS. Signal ends here.”

The detective stooped down, picking something up—the ankle monitor. “Something’s wrong.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Oh really? What gave that away, the dozens of corpses strewn all over the floor?”

“Lower your voice.” The detective advised.

“No! You—” A small clank stopped the mechanic short and she knew they weren’t alone.

The detective drew her gun. It glinted, dark and polished in the narrow light.

_Creak! Creak!_

Asami stiffened. Everything fell silent. A minute passed. Two. She looked in every direction. It sounded like a floorboard, except the floors were all tile so it couldn’t have been it. She gazed up at the ceiling but saw only darkness; there could have been anything up there. A monster. Ten monsters. A hundred—

_Creak! Creak! Creak!_

Alarm bells rang in her head. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run—she stepped backward. The detective grabbed her arm. “Keep perfectly still,” she whispered. “Don’t even breath.”

Asami stared upward. “What the hell is that? Rats?”

“No,” whispered the detective. "I’ts bigger than a rat.

"Shouldn’t you call for backup?”

"Why?"

“For whatever’s in here."

"I’m not calling for backup, if all we’re hunting down is…” Korra paused, her flashlight arcing left, then right.

For at least thirty seconds nothing happened. Albeit the waves crashing against the docks and her thumping heartbeat, there wasn’t a sound; Asami continued to stare into the murky darkness. Anxiety twisted around her like a straightjacket. She and Korra had instinctively moved into defensive positions, back to back, and Asami could feel Korra's tense muscles, could hear her rapid breathing as they both scanned the darkness.

_Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!_

The sound was much closer now; it stopped directly…above her?

Asami squinted her eyes. A figure of darkness fell, loud and menacing and growling. She yelled with surprise, then groaned in pain as she landed heavily on the ground, pushed out of the way. There was a loud thud-thud-thud before all fell silent.

So swiftly did Asami scan her surroundings, she missed it in the first sweep of her eyes. It was only as she squinted in the blackness that she the figure looming over the crumpled detective on the floor. The silhouette of a man. The sound of hissing and snarling. Sensing her probing stare, he whipped his head at her with such suddenness she inhaled sharply. What she stared at was tall, with pale paper-white skin and dark hair. It's head twitching at unnatural angles as deep, blood-red eyes stared intently…hungrily? from the blackness. He took a step forward. Asami didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t speak. She realized now what he was in the weak light.

Vampire.

It felt like something cold and nasty had turned her guts inside out.

Pink lips pulled back over sharp teeth in an almost demonic snarl. With barely the time to pick out his shadow, the vampire bellowed and lunged. In instinct, she used their momentum to flip him up and over her; jaws snapping within inches of her face with a force that would have shredded her cheek if they had met.

The violent sound of crashing metal rented the air, but she didn’t care how he landed and scrambled to her feet. Adrenaline levels spiked as her legs exploded into violent motion. The stairwell, with its creaky steps, was five meters away, perhaps less; but in an instant, she felt his own motion and heard booted footfalls.

The unconscious detective crossed her peripheral, and she cursed.

Asami reached into her bag for something, anything to use as a weapon. Her hand wrapped around a screwdriver and she swung around. The vampire sprang, propelling towards her. She scrambled backwards but not fast enough. His nascent roar chilled her straight to the core as she tried to dodge the swing from his bloody claws, but he struck her side and she fell onto her back, gasping for breath.

He pinned her down by the sides and leaned forward to bite her face off. The rancid, foul stench of his breath fanned her face and she could see bits of meat stuck between his sharp teeth.

Fighting the rising panic she slammed a knee into his stomach, then swung a punch that connected with the side of his head before he could snap his jaws shut. He vibrated in fury, reared his head, and drove his teeth toward her neck, meaning to tear out her throat. Asami raised a hand and his teeth sunk into her left forearm instead, biting deeply into the flesh. She roared in pain, tried to shrug him off, kicked and punched and screamed.

She caught him in the throat with her right hand. He yelped and finally lifted his mouth. It was red, a dark awful red, like his eyes. Then he made to bite again.

Before he could snap his jaws shut, a pair of hands appeared out of the darkness and grabbed his head, yanking him off her. The creature lashed out, fists swinging wildly, trying to swat off his assailant, who climbed onto his back and wrapped their hands around his neck. The hands twisted the head to one side. There was a loud crack, and he crumpled to the ground unconscious.

Heavy breathing filled the space.

Agile, his attacker rose and pulled Asami to her feet. She felt weak and dizzy but found herself gazing down into the flushed, tan face of the detective. A trickle of blood dripping down her cheek.

“Sato, you alright?”

 _Alright?_ Asami was sure she was shaking uncontrollably. Her hand felt numb. The detective turned her head gently to the left and right in search of damage.

"I didn’t know he’d be this way. I shouldn’t have…” A pause. “You’re bleeding.”

 _Bleeding?_ Asami looked down at her mangled hand as nausea crept up her throat. She pitched precariously from side to side like a hurricane before the detective caught her. All sound ceased. For a moment she was conscious of Korra's lips moving and knew she was speaking to her, but the pain in her head blocked her voice. Asami couldn't feel her fingers. And so darkness enveloped her like the shadowy deep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the chapter was all wonky because I used the wrong manuscript. Nothing's changed, just the ending.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> D.A - District Attorney  
> M.E - Medical Examiner

Asami was falling again.

The ground so far below her that she could barely see it through the dark mists that whirled around her. The speed of the fall was familiar. She knew she didn’t have to guess what awaited her at the end. She had to do something, wanted to use all her senses, get a feel for whatever this was, but a metallic odor dominated the air, and the chill froze her skin.

The ground was much closer now, yet still very, very far away. Even in dreams, you couldn’t fall forever, could you? You always woke up just before hitting the ground. She would wake up and be home, in her bed, dangled in the sheets. She would.

_Where is home?_

She didn't know, hadn't known for a long time. Home was a distant memory. She knew only sadness, regret and grief. Fear most of all.

She slipped through cracks of grey to a clear blue sky and sea. Asami fell and fell and fell. And crashed into the unforgiving surface of the water. It took no time at all for the waters to engulf her. She was floating in a void, a world without shape or dimension. There were no landmarks, no points of reference, nothing. No one. Alone.

Wrong. She was not alone.

Drifting ethereally in the murky depths was a a woman, her body artfully mutilated, so torn apart that the water was almost black with blood. She drifted closer, only to see the vwoman’s face set in a contorted scream. Her contorted features offered a vague familiarity. The black hair that floated a strew, the shadowed green in her eyes; Asami knew this woman. She reached out to grab the pale hand reaching out to her. She was so close, so very close, but no. No.

The depths took the woman away, as well. And as suddenly as the woman disappeared, a shadow shot through the water. A man with a ghastly face, and bloodshot pallid eyes. He terrified her so much that her legs kicked back of their own volition as she tried to swim away. He chuckled, the sound grating her ears. Hands gripped her shoulders. Stay away, she screamed. It was soundless. She didn’t dare glance at those red eyes gleaming with the desire to devour her bit by bit. Sharp claws sinking into her skin as he whispered her name

Her name…

Someone was calling her name. A a tender voice beside her ear. A woman's voice. “Miss Sato, calm down. You’re safe, I promise. Nurse, get the IV.”

_IV?_

Asami jerked up fast enough to cut off her breath as she returned fully to consciousness. An overhead brightness hurt her eyes. She raised a hand to block it, but her body wasn’t listening to the commands her brain was sending out. All but her head felt like lead.

It was difficult to think through the haze fogging her senses, the ringing ears and with bright blobs of light flashing before her eyes. Blinking and struggling to focus, she managed to make sense of her surroundings.

Why was she in a hospital room?

High-pitched beeping filled ber ears, and the voice she'd heard grew more insistent and much closer. Then the memories came flooding back. The bar. The buyer. The detective. The vampire…

_The bodies._

Asami touched her arm. The place where she'd been bitten, but there was nothing. No blood, no mangled flesh. Her arm had been neatly wrapped in gauze. Someone was now rubbing something cool on her other hand. The cool slickness quickly turned to another sharp jab of pain. She whipped around to see nurse attahing an IV needle to the back of her hand.

"Don’t touch me!”

A warm hand gripped her shoulder. She struggled against it. The hands persisted.

"Please, Miss Sato." The same tender voice. "We are only trying to help. Stay calm."

How could she when pain slithered down her temples, and The only thoughts racaing through Asami's head were those of escape? She had to get away. She was jerking mercilessly now, willing herself to move.

She couldn’t move. Her entire body was paralysed, muscles locked tight as waves of pain flowed through her. She felt another sharp jab, this time on her inner elbow.

Within seconds, it was dark again.

*

It was just coming up on ten in the morning. Korra was in 100th street Republic City Police Department's 11th precinct.

An easy half-hour passed by in Tenzin’s office, but where the chief was, Korra had no clue. She slumped awkwardly in the chair, resting her head on the back of it.

No other bodies were found after news of the six in the building broke. It had been confirmed that they were all drained of blood, all human. Five men and one woman—the youngest being twenty-three. Korra couldn’t hide her disappointment to learn that they were all unrelated to one another. The five men were dock workers, the woman yet to be identified, and each came from different parts of the city.

Whereas Mako was safely tucked away in a Republic City Prison cell, barely alive himself. Had she found him sooner he would have been better off.

“May I ask how you found him?” Tahno said, leaning in to her. “The news outlets weren’t very clear.”

She replied with an exaggerated eye roll at the thought of having to answer that question for the millionth time. Tenzin had already debriefed her, she didn't need Tahno, who had shown up fifteen minutes prior, to grill her incessantly about the case.

So she stayed silent, glancing around the room to avoid eye contact.

All around the walls were medals and pictures of Tenzin accepting accolades, with his wife and kids beside him. Korra was there too, grinning like an idiot. Those were good days for her. There was always something more to learn, and she was perpetually in awe of the fact that she was doing something she loved.

If only she could go back to before all this had started, before recent months. The headache she sported was thickening like day-old stew and her back was aching from sitting in one position for too long. She was long overdue for a rest. But stubbornness.

Korra all but felt Tahno lean forward and put a hand on the back of her chair, his breath tickling her cheek. “Maybe—”

“Any closer, and you’ll lose an eye,” she snarled.

He sat back, chuckling. “You look rather ravishing today, I can’t help myself.”

She sureveyed her appearance: leather jacket, white tee, dark blue jeans, and sneakers. Tahno was being unusually polite and she didn’t like it. His crap was not what she needed today.

"You know," he said silkily, "there’s this new restaurant that opened up in the Heights. I could easily procure a table if you’re free tonight. It’s said the atmosphere there is rather… _alluring_.” A purr.

Korra controlled her body to suppress a shudder. “If you think I’m ever going on a date with you, you can kiss my brown ass.”

“Are you offering?”

“Arrh–hhh-hhh-mmm,” said a voice from behind them.

They jerked around to see Tenzin standing in the doorway. Well-dressed in an old-fashioned tweed suit, he was a tall, elegant man. Educated in Republic City. Civilized. Experienced. And Korra had never been so happy to see his condescending face.

“Am I interrupting something?” He looked at Tahno.

“Not at all.” Tahno smiled as he rose to shake hands. Tenzin did so courteously. “I was merely having some fashionable conversation with the detective here."

Tenzin's _mere_ nod suggested he wasn’t fooled for a moment. Still, he said nothing further on the matter and sat down. His face stern, yet serene from behind the broad desk.

“Well?" Came the sharp demand. Patience was not one of the chief’s many virtues. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, District Attorney?"

“I heard Judge Raiko had the case against my client thrown out,” Tahno began, his voice as soft as a kitten's fur. “Not enough substantial enough evidence to hold up in court.”

Korra aimed daggers at the slender man. “That’s bull, and you know it. The five years worth of audio recordings are proof enough."

“As far as I’m concerned those recordings are an invasion of my client’s privacy," said Tahno. "The RCPD’s desperate attempts at putting a law-abiding citizen behind bars for entertaining the general public.”

“A well-known politician died in his club. You can't just ignore that.”

“No one can," said Tahno. "However, Unalaq has paid his respects to the family, and the public, for this untimely tragedy. There is no evidence placing my at the crime scene, whereas physical evidence puts the vampire in the room with the Senator. Witness statements put him there at the estimated time of his death."

"How many times did Mako deny that he did it?”

"Naturally he's going to deny it. They all deny it."

Korra was about to go at it with Tahno. Except Tenzin held up his hand and called for her to stop. “Can we have the room?” he said, reading off on her building gall. It surprised her that he'd held his tongue for this long.

“Of course." Tahno rose, buttoning his suit jacket. "To more fashionable conversations, detective." He winked at Korra before the door clicked shut after him.

_Asshole._

She whipped around to Tenzin. The chief’s mood meant that she didn’t have to bother with the social niceties. “I can’t believe you’re letting the DA in on this.”

“It’s protocol. Besides, I didn’t think you had a problem with lawyers.”

“I don’t have a problem with lawyers. I have a problem with Tahno."

And his movie star eyebrows, she didn't add. They looked as pampered and as posh as he did, yet did nothing for his personality.

"We can't trust a word that comes out of his mouth," she sais hotly. "We both know Mako’s just a patsy their throwing under the bus because it's convenient."

Tenzin sighed. "Korra, I dislike this as much as you do, but when you arrest someone with the DA on speed dial, there is only so much I can do."

"Unalaq was released hours ago. Tahno was only here fishing for information."

"Well, then he was looking in the wrong place. Iroh is investigating the _psyke_ and Kai will be investigating the homicides.”

“ _Iroh_ ," she stressed, "has been sitting on his ass for months. I should be on this. He wouldn't have known about the drug if it weren't for me"

Tenzin's mouth thinned out. "Come to think of it, you never explained how _you_ came to know about the drug in the first place."

Korra considered what she should say next. Whether she had more to gain or lose if she was completely forthright.

She crossed her arms. "It doesn't matter, I was the one who pulled Unalaq in. I just need a little more time to sit him down and—"

“Unalaq is a well-known commodity in Republic City, and by all accounts a solid businessman and philanthropist. You're not sitting anyone down after the stunt you pulled."

“It wasn’t a stunt.” She rose and paced a line into the marble floor. “When an important witness goes missing, three weeks before a scheduled court hearing, my gut knows somethings wrong. Unalaq has to be behind this. Why else was Tahno here if not to fish for information.”

She wanted so desperately for Mako to be innocent, she was willing to cast doubt on anyone and everyone.

“Please sit down, Detective Waters.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Korra."

“I got a sore butt.”

Tenzin’s face went red. “That’s not all that’s going to be sore if you don’t sit down, in that chair, right now!”

A flush brightened her cheeks. There was no doubt the rest of precinct had heard the reprimand, making her the gossip of the day. So as not suffer further embarrassment, she huffed but sat, tapping her foot in an impatient torrent. Tenzin collected himself with a calming breath and clasped his fingers before speaking once again.

“As to Mako," he said slowly, "the vampire's case will be handle will be handled by Kai. However, in light of last nights events, he will most likely be convicted and siphoned.”

“But—"

Tenzin held up a hand. "You will be on a two month suspension as punishment for your insubordination. Starting now.”

She rose again. "But I found those bodies!"

“Korra, please lower your voice.”

She went on, sounding like a five year old throwing a temper tantrum. "What do you think I’m going to do? Just roll over while Mako goes to jail? Six people are dead, and you don’t find it the least bit suspicious that Mako’s the one who killed them?”

Tenzin's face was reddening again.

“Mako agreed to a plea deal that would nail the TripleThreats and lighten his sentence. Day after that he gets off on bail. Then weeks later he has blood on his hands again. Don't tell me you don't smell a rat. He was cooperating. Willing to help. You know Mako would’ve done anything and everything to—”

Tenzin disrupted the outburst by slamming his fist on the table. "Enough! I will not sit here and be yelled at in my own office."

“Tenzin—”

“Chief, you will call me chief," he said, rising to impose on her. “Your suspension is non-negotiable, Korra. Now hand over your badge and your gun."

She clenched her jaw rebelliously.

Tenzin's commanding silence served to amplify the shrillness of her refusal. Korra held his stare a moment longer, then reluctantly unhooked the gun from her jeans, set it on the table, and chucked the badge alongside it. She jerked her head as if to say ‘happy?’ and crossed her arms.

Tenzin sat down and cleared his throat. “Korra, I am not the enemy, here. Remember what I told you about not letting your temper—”

“—cloud my judgment,” she finished. She wasn’t angry, not yet anyway. The detective rubbed her eyes.

"You look exhausted. Have you slept at all?"

She almost never slept these days, as if it had become a dangerous thing.

Korra couldn’t shake this premonition that something bad was going to happen. She couldn't say what exactly, except for that vague but powerful feeling of dread. She was physically run-down; she was exercising too much and probably drinking more than she should have been to cope with the stress; hourly meditations had gone down the drain months ago, and almost killing someone two nights prior weighed heavily on her conscience.

She was having difficulty sleeping, and when she did fall asleep, often she'd be awakened by a call from someone needing her instant help or a nightmare. When she would go back to sleep, she'd try to force herself to dream about the case in hopes that that would lead her to some insight about it.

Tenzin leaned back in his chair. Korra looked at him, and for a moment he saw a glimmer of warmth in the older man’s eyes. He said nothing for the next few seconds, regarding her with a thoughtful expression. Korra for her own part tried to meet his inquisitive gaze without flinching, and resisted the growing urge to swallow.

"You so often ask me to speak plainly with you so I'd appreciate it if you would extend the same courtesy," Tenzin.

"There's nothing to talk about. I’m fine."

"You’re burning yourself out," Tenzin said simply. ‘It’s like you’re trying to punish yourself, or prove something. Either way, it’s not good."

"For who?" she said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive

"For anyone," he answered. "If you’re exhausted and strung out, you’re not thinking straight." He fixed her with a searching look. “Is this about the Sato girl?”

Korra stiffened.

“Kya told me about what happened," he added.

Of course, Kya had told him. Korra had dropped the mechanic off at the clinic, pledging secrecy from the doctor. A tad dramatic, but she knew the heiress would appreciate it. It seems Tenzin was the exception to that request.

Korra frowned. Tenzin. The all-knowing Tenzin with his stupid mustache and wise sayings, couldn’t wait to fix everything for her. By now she was used to his interrogations. He was getting on her nerves, the pounding in her head not letting up. What annoyed her most was when he treated her like she was one of the new recruits.

She glared at the floor, more than capable of melting it, and said, “Look, I know I messed up. But we got a real shot at wrapping Javier up for good. And Sato is fine."

"Lucky for you, otherwise you’d be on a murder charge right now.”

“What?!”

"And rolled up for reckless endangerment."

"Okay, the second one I get, but the first one…I mean, that’s a bit much."

“No, it is not,” Tenzin said, displeasure clear in his voice. “You forgot the oldest rule: lives first, case second. I don't know what you're doing, but this isn't police work. Did you not once consider the consequences of putting a civilian in danger when you put it upon yourself to conduct a solo manhunt? Do you not care how this may have affected her? Do you even know who she is?"

Asami Sato was eighteen years old when she had disappeared, and said subject had been the story of the decade. That was what the Sato's were. Flashy headlines, news stories and history. More than a truck ton of history.

Think a century back to when the old world was still oblivious to the true dealings of the paranormal.

To the days of the slow-burning war, the one waged on all of humanity as the supernatural world was leaking from the streets and killing off the human fantasy that they were alone and in control. That they were superior in every way. Man and Metahuman attacked each other with magic and machine. The Sato’s smack dab in the middle of it all. Open a history book and you’ll know all about how they had fought in the hundred year war. Three generations. Asami Sato's great-great-grandfather, great-grandfather and grandfather. Seventy years after the war, and the Sato's were running a multi-billion yuan enterprise with enough baggage hanging from their name to stretch across two continent.

"I didn't know Mako would be that way. It wasn't—It won't happen again."

"No," Tenzin said. "I...I blame myself. I let you take initiative when this case was much too personal to begin. You were reckless and—”

"I don’t need a lecture.”

Her words were injected with a heavy dose of anger and it made him grimace. Tenzin wouldn’t be passing along these accusations if he didn’t have solid evidence to back them up, but she'd known Mako for a long time. He was no cold-blooded criminal—albeit being relatively cold-blooded.

Tenzin opened his mouth to speak when the phone rang. It kept ringing.

“You gonna get that, _chief_?”

Tenzin made a face but excused her with a warning to stay out of the case, before taking the call.

She left, slamming the door on her way out. The whole precinct had heard the commotion as everyone awkwardly went about mumbling their business and averting their gazes as Korra huffed past them.

Anger poured through her. She was mad that Tenzin was side-lining her. Mad that he didn’t trust her. That he still see her as some knucklehead kid that he have to micromanage.

Lately, she'd been walking on knifes edge, but she didn’t have to be reminded of it. Didn’t have to be reminded that she was the youngest homicide detective in the city at just twenty-four. How suddenly every day since her promotion she had to prove herself to everyone in her precinct. No matter what they thought of her, she wasn’t some hotheaded rookie cop who got lucky every step of the way.

As she exited the glass doors of the precinct, she stood on the steps for a moment. She exhaled slowly. With the sun out, it wasn’t as cold today. The streets were busy. Every other Republican was carrying a cup of coffee, scurrying around like ants from electric trams, buses and the monorail; always busy, always chasing the next opportunity to scrape a living from the dust. Managing as much normal as they could.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Jinora.

Korra picked up and found a secluded area. “Hey, Jinora. What's up?"

[Are you alright? You sound...]

"Is this a social call?"

[Not anymore] A sigh. [Okay. I have something for you. I found a tattoo on the lower back of our female victim that you might be familiar with. I’ll send it through.]

Her phone pinged. Korra moved it from her ear to look at the screen and her mouth went dry. She knew the brandished ink of two boxers squaring off on the blotchy purple skin well. It was an insignia for an illegal fight club down in the Barcs. Owned by Varrick.

The scars that Varrick had left on Korra's hands were only the most obvious wounds; there were far deeper ones.

Luckily, before she dwinled down horro memory lane, the oice on the phone brought her back to reality.

“Hey...No, I'm okay Jinora...Is that all?”

**[For now. But before you go, don’t tell my dad about this. He’ll blow a fuse.]**

“Like I’d give up my most trusted confidant.”

[Not on purpose, that's for sure.]

Jinora said she would notify Korra later if she had anything else, then ended the call.

Korra whistled for Naga. The polar bear-dog bounded towards her, gleefully, but Korra didn’t wait for her to stop, jumping on as they raced down Republic City’s vast, intricate, labyrinth of noisy streets. Through rush hour. All the way to Pier 26. The scene of the crime. The three-story brownstone looked less ominous in the daytime. Yellow crime scene tape stood bright against the open doorway. The CSU team hustled in and out in white hazmat suits, and dark uniformed officers kept hounding reporters at bay. There were maybe a dozen of them camped out in their news vans.

Parked near the commotion was Kai’s Ford Wildtrak.

Korra slid off the polar bear-dog, patting her on the head. “Stay.”

Naga sat down with a huff.

At the moment of her approach, Kai was checking his lower incisors in the side-view mirror, lips curled back in a monkey-grimace. Dressed in pressed khaki trousers, wearing faux Ray-Bans, and a green shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he paid no mind to the cold wind that jostled the crowd. He was a few inches taller than Korra, and though he looked younger physically, he shied just past thirty.

She walked up and pat him on the shoulder.

Kai jumped about a foot, nearly dropping what was in his hand. He turned around with a displeased look on his face. “Jeez, Korra. Give a guy a warning next time.”

“Hi." She grinned, gaze dropping to the item in his hand. “Heart-healthy?” she asked, curiously eyeing the fruit bar.

Kai's left hand tightened around the bar, making the wrapper crinkle. “Jinora threw out all the good food and replaced it with cardboard,” he grumbled. “Come to think of it it's kind of hard to chew and it makes a mess, but it has fiber.”

“Where?” All Korra saw was candied fruit, crystallized sugar and what looked to be toasted almonds peeking out of the wrapper. “Is it leaking something?”

“Raspberry jam, I snuck that in," he said between bites. "But we’re walking off-topic. You're not supposed to be here. Tenzin ordered you to stand down."

"I'm not afraid of Tenzin."

"Well, actually, I'm a little bit afraid of him. He's my father in-law, and he made me lead on the Mako murder spree.”

Korra activated the appropriate facial muscles, managing as deep a frown as she could get. “You’re not helping with my mood.”

“Am I supposed to be?" Kai looked as if he were both angry and trying not to laugh at the same time. "I just came back from an awesome honeymoon, with a great tan I might add, and got thrown into this mess. So yeah, blow me.”

“You gotta stop saying blow me. People are gonna get the wrong idea."

He shrugged and they laughed together for a few moments, leaning against the side of the truck. It felt good. But soon, as the laughter died down, it felt like a two-hundred-pound weighted backpack had dropped on their shoulders.

Two evidence recovery techs exited the building with a black body bag. They wore dark blue hazmat suits, **RCC** (Republic City Coroner) stamped on their backs in bold yellow lettering.

In this job she’d seen it over and over, a corpse was a corpse unless someone who loved them entered the space. You knew the atmosphere changed when the cleanup crew started to feel the trauma. At that moment you try your hardest to be human as you show up at a stranger's door to deliver the news, to pull someone's world apart with your soft-spoken words. Mostly everyone dealt with it later in macabre humor—the hit and run victim was “roadkill” and the stabbing victim was a “pin cushion.” It wasn’t that they didn’t care, more that they had to find a way to do their job and still function as spouses, friends, and parents. They worked long hours, at a job for which there was no five o’clock whistle. They saw humanity in its darkest, most painful hours. They witnessed nightmares and learned to live with the images.

You quit when it stops hitting close to home. This particular case was jutting Korra in the ribs.

"When did the crime lab get here?’" she asked.

"About half an hour before us." Kai checked his watch. ‘"Actually, I don't even know if they'd left after arriving last night."

Another silence.

“Give me five minutes," she said. "In and out. I won’t touch anything."

Kai shook his head. “Those guys won’t even let _me_ in. Eska and Desna said any outside interference would mess up their grid search or whatever. They used big words I can't remember."

“So we wait?”

“No. I wait. You shouldn’t even be here.”

She knew that; letting this go and following instructions would make this easier for everyone, but not for her. Mako was sitting in a cell right now, paying for trying to do the right thing. She hadn't even visited him yet, first wanting to get the full story before hearing it from the vampire himself. If he could even tell it

“Five minutes,” she begged. “Please?”

Kai stared at her hesitantly for a moment. He set the Ray-Ban's atop his head with a sigh, chomping down the rest of the bar and stuffing the wrapper down his pocket. “Fine, but don’t tell Tenzin about this.”

Korra tried not to beam.

As they walked towards the building, Kai flashed the cop at the door his badge, who nodded as he pulled aside the yellow crime scene tape to let them through.

Sunlight filtered through the boarded-up windows, yet did little to brighten the grim facade. The wind rattled and creaked the ancient structure, as though invisible hands were tugging at it, desperate to get in. The first floor was clearly a reception area with its desk riddled in mould, the walls and peeling wallpaper every shade of grey, from washed-out concrete to almost steel-blue.

Korra took a deep breath of salt air and decay, remembering the prior night.

"It’s so cold in here," Kai said, exhaling a puff of vapor.

Another voice said, "Just above freezing temperature, detective."

Eska and Desna looked up from a body they were lowering into a black bag. Korra wasn't sure which one of them had spoken. As the twins shared no singularly unique features of their own except separate genders, Korra had a hard time telling who-was-who because they looked like exact replicas—stocky, tan, blue-eyed, monotonous tone.

Most of all, it was their calmness that disturbed most persons, their coolly regal gaze as they surveyed the horrors that very few themselves could barely stomach.

"Morning guys." Korra waved at them.

“Detective Waters, you look appealing today,” Eska said.

Korra traded an uncertain look with Kai, who simply shrugged. “Uh, thanks?” she replied, not sure what else to say.

"My sister has been practicing her social and communicative skills," said Desna. Your gratitude is much appreciated.”

"Sure." Korra looked at the body being zipped up. "What happened to that guy?"

“It is quite clear that he was driven over by a heavy articulated motor vehicle of tare more than thirty-five hundred kilograms but less than sixteen-hundred kilograms,” said Desna.

Kai pinched his nose with a sigh. "English, Desna. Please."

Eska gladly clarified that someone ran the victim over with a large truck.

“However, that is not what killed him,” Desna said.

Korra raised a brow. “How could that not have killed him?”

“There was very little tissue to work with after decomposition, however, there are several antemortem injuries indicating that the victim was stabbed repeatedly in the chest before being driven over,” he explained. “He is the more fresher of the victims. Much cleaner, of sorts, as the creature took very little blood from him.”

 _Who would go through the trouble, and why?_ Korra wondered.

“So Mak—the vampire didn’t kill him?” Kai asked.

Desna said, "We will know more after the coroner's report."

Korra tried to run a mental checklist but resolved to write everything down in her small notebook instead. “Anything else?” she asked.

The twins shook their heads.

“Do you think—”

“No.” Eska cut her off.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You sought to appeal to my opinion on the subject. I am not a psychologist, detective. I am a patroness of science. I refuse to theorize as it is not affiliated to the task at hand.”

“Come on.” Korra pleaded. “Indulge me this one time.” Maybe it would settle the pounding in her head. 

Eska woodenly went back to zipping up the bag like the block of ice that she was. Korra sighed and turned to ask if they could head up, glancing around the room where the CSU team worked around one another like bees in a hive.

"Yes. However, refrain from touching anything, it would be to our dismay to have our work in disarray," Desna stated flatly.

The detective's paused to swipe on shoe-covers, then mumbled their thanks and started up the staircase. Kai first.

“You look terrible, by the way,” he said after they passed the second floor.

“Yeah, turns out the couch isn’t the most comfortable place to take a nap."

“You mean you actually sleep? I thought you just powered down and plugged yourself into the socket to charge.”

“Trust me, if I could afford it I’d already have a power cord up my ass.”

They reached the third landing. Most of the large debris had been cleared away, revealing a concrete floor, this time with an enclosed area of a ten-by-ten foot square radius with ninety-degree corners of strings tied to metal stakes where the remains had been.

Korra looked down at the stone floor and saw footprints—a confusing jumble of them. Her gaze moved in a wider circle, taking in the piece of splashes of red on the walls. She could see her own breath in this frigid room, and the temperature seemed to drop even colder, her chill deepening as she read the bloodstains and understood what had happened here.

"Can’t believe you came here at night," Kai said wearily, gazing up at the ceiling.

As a seasoned detective, he had worked a lot of the city's most notorious and difficult cases. He had seen things, a lot of things, and had been in many situations that had made him uncomfortable. He was as tough as they come.

But at that moment, he looked as gray as the sidewalk.

The detectives walked back and forth in parallel lines, first proceeding north to south, then crisscrossing east to west, treading lightly, touching nothing that they weren’t supposed to. When they'd finished, every inch of the floor had been searched twice over.

“The twins really did a number on this place,” Korra said. They would be lucky if they found anything at all. 

Kai took her to the edge of the floor collapse. He said no other victims had been found elsewhere and she hoped he was right. He was probably the brightest, most driven detective with whom she’d ever worked. Still, he remained humble, loyal, and a good listener. She learned to recognize when he was on the brink of solving a complex problem: his eyes would dart from left to right as though he were examining every angle, making him look like a professional chess player lining up his moves to close in for the kill.

Like right now.

“What?” she asked.

“So much for the twins being thorough." From his pocket he drew on a pair of latex gloves and knelt among the bits of plaster, sifting them around until he found what he was looking for—a battered business card.

It read: _**BLACKSTONE TATTOOS**_

Korra narrowed her eyes. “That's Varrick’s place."

Kai flipped the card over, examining it. “This just got a whole lot more interesting,”

She knew that this was in no way a coincidence. First the tattoo, and now the card? If Varrick had a hand in the cookie jar, you might as well expect the worst. It was in fact his merchant ship coming in from Ba Sing Se that had a container of _dappo_ stolen a month ago.

According to the Forensics preliminary report, there was a crew of five and seven guards with M4s on deck. Conveniently, the ship's security camera as well as alarm system went down just before the robbery. Judging from the scene, not a single shot was fired from the guards on deck. Whereas there were two guards with 9mms in the vault room. They shot a total of 17 rounds at the thieves before the guards were dropped. Four bullets were recovered from the walls. 17 shots, 13 hits. Zero dead bad guys.

Either the guards were the worst shots in the world, or the heist team must have had some good Kevlar. As for the guards and crew: they had their throat's slashed. An execution. A cold and clinical hit. From infil to exfil, it was an extremely well-orchestrated operation run by a tight crew.

And yet Varrick, was nowhere to be seen. Didn’t even show up to complain after the police shut down half his fleet to investigate the murder of every single person on his ship. You don't disappear unless you've got something to hide.

Korra’s phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She took it out and the display read, “Kya.” The detective sighed. Kya was supposed to call if Sato woke up and caused any trouble. Korra had hoped the doctor would have been able to deal with the heiress herself. Guess it didn’t seem that way.

“I have to go.” She let the phone ring out, pocketing it.

“Where?”

She grinned crookedly. “I don’t kiss and tell."

Kai snorted a laugh. “So there was kissing involved with the mystery woman. Now I want to know.”

“Wha…how did you…I…” she stammered, feeling the blush burn her cheeks, then she groaned. “I can’t believe Jinora told you. Does everyone know?"

“She tells me everything," he said, while laughing. Korra always thought he looked a bit like a movie star. All brown hair, engaging smile, and charismatic green eyes. "I also live a floor up from you, so when you come knocking on our door at three in the morning covered in blood, there’s usually cause for concern. I swear you’re a masochist if you actually like the woman after almost killing her.”

She didn’t. “I don’t.”

“Whatever you say." Kai shrugged. "Just make sure not to tell Ten—”

“I got it!” She cut him off. He and Jinora needed a new line. If they kept reminding her, she may as well.

After waving him goodbye, Korra started down the stairs. Now she had another problem to deal with. Hopefully, this one wouldn’t be as bad as her headache.

*

“Miss, I must insist you stay in bed. You are not at optimal health and cannot leave without proper medical care,” said the nurse-bot.

After a few minor altercations, the other nurses were too afraid to deal with her biting outbursts and were swapped out for this hulking, mechanical droid of pure aggravation.

In her mind, she was intricately dismantling the floating grey bot blocking her path when there was a soft knock on the door. The first thing she saw was blue. Blue jacket, blue eyes. Blue. Ice cold blue. Then Asami saw red as she recognized who belonged to the blue.

The detective arched a brow. “Going somewhere?”

Asami tightened the hand on her bag. "Somewhere you’re not,” she said and shoved past her of into the white-washed hallway. Nurses shared uncomfortable glances from behind their station, noses in their work or aiding patients willing to accept it.

The bot followed closely behind them. “Miss, I will be forced to use evasive action if you do not comply to stay.”

“Just give us a second," she heard the detective say

Asami ignored them both.

Over the symphony of coughing, hacking, and sneezing that greeted her in the waiting room, her heels cracked out a rapid beat as she made her way towards the closest exit. The automated doors whooshed open, and she winced at the nipping morning air. She flipped back her hair, pulled up the collar of her overcoat, and crossed the crowded street. With each stride carrying her further away from the clinic, another set paced towards her, eventually the detective caught up—huffing frustrated breaths.

“Sato, do you even know where you are?”

“Fire Ferret Medical, it says it right there on the sign you cretin.” Asami hissed. 

A bit harshly, yes, but she already wanted to wring the detective’s neck, and being polite had gone out the window two days ago. “And I’m taking a cab.”

The other woman chose to silently wait next to her on the sidewalk.

Asami had never been on this side of town. There was misery in the streets. It was etched in every gaunt and dejected face that had given up on life getting any better than mean survival on the walk. People seemingly aimless milled around, mothers pushed strollers with pale determination towards the clinic, never-ending streams of traffic spewed fumes, honking horns, pedestrians waiting at crosswalks.

There there was so much going on that her brain couldn’t cope. Too many volatile variables. She had never liked crowded places at the best of times, and that feeling had grown stronger in recent years. She felt panicked, breathless, trapped by the thronging press of people all around.

She pulled her hood up to blot out the noise, and crossed her arms, tucking them under her armpits. She couldn't force her mind to calm, but she fought to focus on one thing only. Somehow, the detective's habit of tapping her foot rose above the cacophony—Asami focused on the it.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap..._

The detective said, “This may be a bad time to ask if—”

“No,” Asami snapped. “You bullied me into helping you, and I nearly died. Not to mention the fact that my buyer—who was supposed to show up and probably did after you lead me to that death trap of a place—is just as big of an ass as you for wasting my time!”

The tapping stopped and Asami hailed a diesel-fueled cab. It pulled up to the side of the curb but before she could climb in a hand tightened around her arm. Asami whipped her head around. Blue-eyes stared her down. For a heartbeat she waited for something, anything, to pass between them. Not just simultaneous waves of anger and annoyance pinging back and forth in crackling tension.

1

2

3

_Say something. Don't just stare at me like that._

4

5

6

7…

_To hell with this._

Asami huffed and tore her arm away, slamming the door shut after getting into the cab. If she was lucky, she would never see those blue eyes again.

If she was lucky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Much shorter than the previous two, but for good reason. It's a minute view into the two women's spaces, lives, pasts, etc.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. I had fun writing it. Hopefully, it's up to par for those who've bookmarked and commented.

At five after ten the elevator rolled open and Korra stepped onto the fifth floor of the Beifong apartment complex feeling dog-tired and sore. She thought about killing a man. And not just any man, she was thinking about killing Kai. The idiot that let slip to Tenzin that she’d been down at the docks after he himself vehemently nagged her not to rat him out. Clearly Jinora had more of the resolve in their relationship if all his father-in-law had to do was glare at him. And he was the cop who clearly had no resolve for the simplest of things.

Korra rubbed tired eyes. She trudged up to the front door of her apartment, tore off the red eviction notice and slipped inside. Her flat was dark save for the gray light pouring in through the curtains. The apartment was small, really only made for one person. The walls were a baby blue coated by Korra herself, the couch sat in front of the TV and multiple gaming consoles she never used. With no dining room, her marble-topped kitchen was where she had irregular meals, and her bedroom and office were squished against the edge of the space. She’d bought the apartment solely for the spacious backyard that accommodated owners with large pets. Since having a polar bear-dog with the energy of a small kindergarten, it was a small but expensive compromise.

She didn’t bother with the lights as she shrugged off her jacket, kicked out of her sneakers, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Her eyes settled on the certificates hung on the wall above her couch—top of her class at Yu Dao Police Academy, Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice, printed hard copies of her investigator’s and magical license and tossed in for wow factor more than anything else, her championship certificate from the Republic City Golden Glove Youth tournament, circa 170 AG.

Those were the fairly good days. Certainly better than now. 

She sighed through her nose and rested the cold beer against her temple. She’d meant to apologize outside the clinic—being tongue-tied was not on her list of things to be at that moment—except Sato became so damn infuriating whenever she opened her mouth. Even when those green eyes sparked an oddly attractive rage.

As soon as Korra had the thought, she shut it down. It was foolish to even contemplate; she shouldn’t even consider getting mixed up with the woman.

Emptied, the beer bottle found the trash can. She padded across the hardwood flooring. A cold shower was beckoning and she needed to figure out what was going on.

Forensics would seal Mako’s fate, no doubt about it. He would be judged, siphoned, and sentenced to rot in a jail cell for the rest of his life. But something wasn’t right. She felt it in her gut. Her visit to the Republic City prison was a short one, but she needed to see him. See how he was doing.

 _S_ _urrounded by a_ _20-foot high_ _w_ _ire-tapped electrical fence that extended two feet underground_ _,_ _the prison was simply a maze designed to make sure people like Mako_ _—_ _and worse_ _—_ _would never find the exit. The four tier building ranged from humans to meta's. The fourth level of cells housing what you would call **special** cases._

 _The guard at the station buzzed_ _his buddy_ _in the green_ _uniform_ _an_ _d_ _the detective_ _through. T_ _hey_ _walked down the_ _long,_ _cold concrete hallway._ _With i_ _nmates sneering and jeering harsh words and curses_ _as they passed, it_ _was_ _like walking into a whirring blende_ _r_ _of crazies._ _How anyone kept their sanity guarding the the deranged meta's in this place, Korra couldn't fathom._

 _A foul stench coated the_ _air_ _and Korra was not the least bit surprised that it smelled strongest outside_ _cell 34 Z._

 _Everything from the bed to the toilet and sink had been smashed. White-washed walls covered in smudges of food and_ _blood_ _—_ _his blood. The vampire had been clawing at himself, tearing the white uniform, pulling out his hair, pushing against his skull furiously._

 _“_ _He’s an ugly mug isn’t he?” the guard remarked,_ _scratching his chin._

 _Korra_ _tried not to tell him off for the comment._ “ _Why isn’t he chained to the wall?_ _”_

“ _Kept hurting himself trying to get out of_ _the_ _chains_ _,” the guard said. Tore them right of_ _f_ _the wall after a few tries.”_

“ _He’s already hurting himself!” She snapped. “Why aren’t you medicating him?_ _”_

“ _No one wants to get near him. Almost had my hand bitten off just for trying to feed the maniac, and even then, he just regurgitates the food." The_ _guard_ _explained._

 _“_ _Have you tried raw meat?”_

_The guard stiffened. “I just follow orders lady. Take it up with the warden if you care so much.”_

_Mako snarled and pounded on the glass._

_Korra stared him right in the face._

She touched the scar on her forehead. No stitching required, just another one added to the list.

 _How many exes was it now that tried to kill me?_ She chuckled at the thought. At least Mako was decent, regardless of all the arguments that ran on a constant loop when they were dating.

At the prison, she had seen something in his warped red eyes—something like pain. It was such a human expression that it made her shudder. Right then and there she swore to herself that she would find whoever did that to him and make sure they never saw the light of day again. She owed him that much…

Not looking where she was going she slipped on a carelessly left out dumbbell, causing her to lose balance, and she reached out for the wall. Her hand slipped along the high sheen paint and she sprawled onto the floor with a crashing thump.

She groaned, laying a hand on her forehead. The floor was cool against her back and she decided to just lay there for a while. If the rest of the week was going to be this bad, she may as well just kill herself now. Or hibernate, she needed a vacation anyway.

It was quiet for a good few minutes.

Then came the sound of an old fashioned telephone, so authentic that Korra jerked up. Her hand went to the absent strap on her side—forgetting that Tenzin had confiscated her gun—while she scanned the room for something that would look out of place.

She got up and moved around the room, her quiet steps lost under the din. Behind her was a trail of disturbance in the dust; coming from the living room in small plumes of particles erupting like mini mushroom clouds. After a few moments she stopped at the heavy wooden table and slid her hand underneath—there was something taped there in plastic. Korra ducked down, peeling away fresh duct tape to release the package, still ringing. It was a cell phone, an old model from before her time, the size and shape of an old fashioned credit card in the days before banking became solely digital. She ripped the bag with her incisors and pulled it out. Like many phones now it didn’t look voice-activated. In theory, there was no way it would respond to her.

“Hello?” The ringing stopped…

…she put the phone to her ear.

 **[Reply ‘yes’ to** **accept this call.]** said the automated voice.

“Uh…Yes?”

A brief crackle of static, then **[Listen closely, detective Waters.]** The voice that spoke was female, strong and commanding, with a hint of an accent that Korra couldn’t identify.

“Who’s this?”

 **[I have been authorized to pay you five thousand yuans** **for the retrieval of a Miss Asami Sato, and her safe return to my employer.]**

Korra’s mouth fell open. The money was enough to keep the roof over her head for half a year, or really help her pay off some debts. She’d be able to sling some yuans at Yu Dao for her back-payments on her student loans, and take the edge off her interest to Kuvira after Korra wrecked her beloved hover-cycle.

 **[…detective.]** The voice startled her.

Caught off guard by the sudden intrusion into her world, Korra could barely stammer an answer down the phone. “I’m s–sorry, could you repeat that last part."

 **[My client** **trusts** **that** **this sum** **will suffice for the duration of the case.]**

“Case?” She repeated stupidly. “What case?”

A knock on the door made the hairs at the nape of her neck rise.

**[That would be for you, detective.]**

Korra hesitantly walked to the door. Opened it. She checked the hallway. No one in sight. Not a sound. Across the hall from the front door was a small storeroom. She walked across, flicked the light switch on, found nothing but cleaning supplies. She frowned, tracking back to her flat.

**[Are you done?]**

“How did you—ow!” Her foot poked something metallic in the doorway. When she looked down she saw a Fire Nation headpiece on the floor. Korra eyed it suspiciously. She bent low, picked up the golden headpiece and kicked the door shut. Her brows furrowed as she turned it over in her hand. “What’s this?”

 **[Early** **compensation.]**

“Whose is it?”

**[Yours now.]**

“Whose was it?”

A long silence, purely for effect.

“So, I have to find out the hard way?”

**[You ask too many questions, detective.]**

“Excuse me for not trusting the city’s most sketchy delivery system.” _Messengers_ were the epitome of privacy, security, and submission. Only the richest, most elite could afford their services. They did everything and anything you wanted, whenever you wanted, how ever you wanted, without restriction.

**[I can see how this would make you angry, detective, but my client has an unlimited budget. By the looks of things, your suspension is hindering your finances. Perhaps a better deal would lighten your hesitation. How about an extra twenty-five percent?]**

Korra clenched her jaw. “I think I’ll pick and choose my own cases. Plus I don’t appreciate being bribed.”

**[No. No bribery. We merely want to employ your services. It is said you have an uncanny disposition for solving difficult problems.]**

_Right_. “I don’t like being used. Find someone else to do your client’s dirty work. There are plenty of meta-hunters running around town. Plenty with experience in finding people who don’t want to be found.”

 **[A limited time frame requires someone with previous affiliations** **to the suspect.]**

 _S_ _uspect?_ _What the hell did this girl do to_ _warrant this kind of attention?_

“What if I fail, you know, miss and hit the wall?” she asked.

 **[If your reputation precedes you, then my client trusts that you won’t. However, if circumstances prove otherwise, well, maybe we won’t be too inclined to burn you.** **]**

She couldn’t tell if the woman was joking, or being deadbolt serious.

**[Do you accept, detective?]**

"You make it sound like I don’t have a choice."

_[You don’t.]_

It was Korra's turn to bite her tongue. Should she accept? She signed up to protect and serve,I it was never about the money. Maybe she was old fashioned, but she believed in public service. She saw the worst of humanity on a daily basis and it tested her. It tested her faith in the goodness of people and her natural optimism. The money was tempting but wasn’t worth the trouble. And the heiress was hiding for a reason. You don’t go above and beyond faking your own death unless you were running from something…or someone. Korra didn’t feel like dipping her toes in the woman’s mess, she had better things to deal with.

“I think I’ll hustle it instead,” she finally replied.

Mumbling on the other end prompted her curiosity. Her ears strained to hear what was being said.

 **[There is a docket** **and a laptop taped underneath** **your** **coffee table. I believe you’ll find everything you need inside.]**

“I didn’t say I’d take the case.”

**[Consider it a wager that you will.]**

The phone in her pocket pinged with a text—five thousand yuans had just been wired into her bank account.

**[Please do read the files, detective. I will inform my client of your acceptance. Goodbye.]**

“Wai—”

The phone beeped back to the operator. **[This device will detonate in…5…4…3…]**

Her eyes widened. “Shit!”

She ran to the window, quickly flicked the latch and opened it. The freezing air hit her body like a cold tidal wave from the Mo Ce Sea. She tossed the phone out, heard a dull boom as it exploded and disappeared in a hiss of smoke.

Korra withdrew a breath and settled for glowering at no one in particular. “What is it with corporates and trying to blow people up?” She ran a hand through her short hair, and looked at the city that spread before her, unapologetically urban.

Korra was not a native Republican. Not by any means. When she first moved to Republic City, the smells of the metropolis were alien to her, and their chaotic fragrance set her on edge. No trees, just monoliths of concrete and glass. From a map, the island looked like a circuit board. There was no tinge of earthy loam to the air, no fragrance of spring growth or heady warning when rain was due. The fumes from belching vehicles underpinned everything, and smoke from the refineries on the city’s outer islands would smear the sky in a foamy haze. Now, these are the smells of home every bit as much as the old ones were, perhaps less healthy but reassuring nonetheless.

The temperature was dropping. A shiver caught her. She didn’t know if it was the icy breeze or the thought of being dragged into finding a woman who clearly wanted to stay hidden. She remembered the fear in Asami’s green eyes the night they had met at the bar, and outside the clinic. How she pulled her hood up to conceal herself. People kept secrets, sometimes their whole life was a secret, and when their secretive little life was in danger of being uprooted, people became dangerous. Everyone was capable if they were pushed far enough.

She checked her phone. The money seemed to taunt her. She didn’t know enough about Asami Sato to be sure, though.

Korra closed the window and fell onto the couch with an irritated huff. For a long time, she lay there and thought about what to do. The docket leered at her from under the table. She could send it all back. Maybe toss them down the garbage disposal. Donate the money to charity.

She bit her lip; sat up. She untaped the laptop and docket, tore the plastic off, powered up the laptop, and sat back on the couch. Her foot tapped out an anxious beat. The laptop screen prompted her for a password. She typed in the words written on the Post-It note stuck to the front of the docket and the screen changed. An image flashed in front of her.

Hiroshi Sato, Yasuko Sato, a young Asami Sato, and a man with the same green eyes and dark hair stood smiling in front of the FIT building.

Korra clicked on the first file. Started reading.

  
  


*

  
  


Three days later Asami was hovering under the hood of a Chevy Corvette when the microwave dinged. A holo-light illuminating the underbelly of the car in blue fluorescence.

“ _Your spicy Glutenfreedo is ready,”_ said Gizmo in flawless and smooth speech. She didn’t hear him over the blaring music from the rock station on the radio. She was too busy replacing the bad throw out bearing.

The wound in her arm felt tight, messing with the motion in her wrist. With a sigh she pushed out from underneath the car, stretching her back. Moving brought her own scent back to her nose—being under the hood of a car for a few hours, it was all engine grease and sweat. The odor made her gag.

Something to take her mind off her own filth was required.

She dropped the torque wrench into her red tool box. "Gizmo could you kindly highlight the engine and rear-wheel drive of the car into a digital wire-frame?” she asked, cleaning her hands on her red coveralls. “I need a manipulatable projection.”

The lights dimmed. With pre-programmed perfection lasers framed to form the Corvette’s engine in blue strobes that highlighted every detail. Asami spread her hands, enlarging the 3-D image so it spread around her like a cocoon to view the blinking red valve system in the center.

“ _The compression in cylinder three appears to be low,”_ said Gizmo.

“Log that. I’m more worried about the drivetrain,” she said flipping the projection to view the transmission. “If the motor isn’t applying the required resistance, then the wheels won’t slow down when I hit the brakes and I’ll go skidding off the tracks.”

She leaned back onto the desk. Behind her on a drawing board were previously drawn schematics of her most recent project. She looked them over. Her consumption of erasers was only just behind her consumption of pencil lead, and this project warranted the use of a lot of lead. She’d found the clunky Vette in a scrap yard whilst scavenging for parts—you’d be surprised what people threw away. One look at the classic and her heart was all-in-it to restore the beautiful piece of machinery. The time it took to get the car back to the old gym turned workspace-garage was worth the trouble because there was nothing like the satisfaction of seeing a vision fulfilled exactly as she'd imagined. To her, it felt as intoxicating as the best drugs on the planet.

Asami was happiest working on a regulation change. The process came naturally to her, effectively starting off at an early age, with her brother as an excellent mentor. He had an eye for detail, a characteristic they shared. But the constant speed bumps she was hitting at the moment were killing her.

Asami picked up the engine and sent it into an exploded view. “I could put the delcotron battery behind the engine, in front of the gearbox,” she suggested.

“ _You risk overheating,_ _”_ _said Gizmo._

“Not if I put the batteries into their own little compartments with cold air blowing over them in addition to the water-cooling they have anyway. That should ensure fuselage integrity while maintaining a power-to-weight ratio. You get that?”

“ _Yes_. _Shall I draw up a schematic using the_ _proposed specifications,_ _or would you prefer doing it by hand?_ _”_

“All yours." Asami Clapped twice to clear the setup and the hologram vanished. “Oh, and run the Geo-tagger on the buyer’s email thread while you’re at it.”

The AI beeped back a response. 

Running a hand over the rusted red paint of the Chevy, she strode into the bathroom for that much-needed shower. It was hard getting her shirt off because of the tightness in her arm, but she eventually tossed it in a pile with her coveralls and underwear. Careful not to wet the gauze as she stepped under the shower’s lazy warm spray, her muscles began to unclench and her spine sagged in relief as tension lulled over into satisfaction. It was actually a little too hot, but she began to wonder whether falling asleep in the shower was a bad idea.

Moments later, clean almost down to the bone, Asami stood before the mirror. Her hands resting on the cool porcelain sink. Taking her time, she examined her reflection. Dark wet strands clung to her face and chest. She’d been meaning to trim her hair, never getting around to actually doing it. With the makeup washed away her skin was paler, the bags under her eyes more prominent. They seemed to have grown heaiver, darker. That's what she got after three nights of restlesness.

Not liking the tight feeling in her arm, she removed the dressing, wiped the damp skin, wrapped it in clean gauze, popped a double-dose of antibiotics she picked up at a drug store, and took her temperature with a digital thermometer. Ninety-seven point six. Perfect.

She smiled. For someone who couldn’t exactly waltz into a hospital, she had to know a lot about how to deal with injuries. Scraping herself up on more than one occasion, and not always under the hood of a car. Thankfully, the doctor at the clinic had stitched her up pretty well, so that was a plus.

Clean clothes finished the job as she pushed her hair into a sloppy ponytail and grabbed the burrito from the microwave. She fell into the worn brown leather seats of the Chevy. Her fingers slid across the holographic touchpad and she brought the Geo-tagger up on the floating blue screen. It had taken her about year to hack into the FIT mainframes global satellite system. It tracked everything from the specially designed GPS chips implanted in their computers, cellphones, cars, ankle-monitors and sometimes people.

Following the flow of the tracker dancing across the map like a ping-pong ball, she grabbed a pencil off the dashboard and spun it around her fingers whilst waiting for the location of the buyer’s IP address to ping. She didn’t know why, but it somehow allowed her to think better. It also kept her hands sharp. Lifting wallets and jewelry had been her survival for a long time, and her father had always told her to keep her hands smart—which meant practice to maintain her reflexes and hand speed. So if she was thinking about something, it helped if she picked up a pen or coin and ran it over her knuckles.

Asami was glad the best of memories were still there to stay. She had a habit of suppressing the bad memories, so placed firmly in the back of her mind was a recollection of images that continued to haunt her. Memories that highlighted a lot of her past, but never overshadowed who she used to be.

Her father loved cars but he wasn’t especially interested in motorsport. With her, the love-hate relationship varied. Asami was in her teens when the bug to actually race rather than design cars bit deep. She devoured _Autosport_ magazines like she devoured the burrito in her hand. On weekends she was glued to the couch during the yearly Ba Sing Se Marathon. At ten years old she watched the Revver 1 racers slap down the straight, shifting gears faster than the blink of an eye.

Throttle, Green, Green, Amber. Change. Brake, turn the wheel, point it in a corner, accelerate.

Simple. It was like an arcade game.

Speeds? Now you’re asking.

The challenge was doing it faster than everybody else, without losing control. Street racing was where it was at. It offered quick bucks, and you made a name for yourself on the stretch. But after a few close calls with the cops while running with a rough crowd of mugs, she needed a safer, slightly less illegal way to make money. With a city overrun by tech, what didn’t break? It was all big, big, big, and she could piece it down to the smallest bolt. Plus, she lived in the anonymity of it all. No one paid attention to a paltry mechanic down in the Barcs. No one except for a blue-eyed detective.

_Snap._

Asami looked at her hand and found she’d stopped twirling the pencil. She’d been gripping it so tightly she’d snapped it in two without realizing.

The Geo-tagger pinged, hovering over a nameless address.

 _“_ _Scan complete,”_ said Gizmo.

Her mouth felt dry, she cleared her throat, said, “Mute.”

The music cut to a halt.

“Can you get me a ground view of the location?”

The screen filtered through several dozen images until Gizmo settled on a sidewalk view. Shown on the screen was a yellowed building. There was nothing slick about it, no fancy fonts or white etching upon the glass, you could pick the whole thing up and send it back sixty years and it wouldn’t look out of place.

Asami sat forward. “Zoom in and enhance imagd.” Gizmo magnified the image on the screen, highlighting the words on the graffitied walls. The image became sharper and sharper as blurred pixels cleared to reveal bold black lettering: **_BLACKSTONE TATTOOS._**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ante-mortem - injuries that occur before death
> 
> I'm a day early. Awesome!  
> Hope you enjoy the chapter.

The next morning Korra awoke to the sound of her chiming cell. She was lying on the couch in her office. Her legs felt cold, wet. Her shirt too. She tried to sit up, regretting it soon afterwards. The light in her eyes hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and she may as well have been stabbed in the head with an ice pick. She laid back down, decided sitting up could wait and covered her eyes with a hand.

The cell kept chiming.

She didn’t know what time it was, but it felt way too early, so letting it ring out was what she went with. It fell silent. Blissfully quiet for a few seconds.

The pain in her skull eased after a few minutes. The bruised patch on her thigh didn’t. She really needed to stop sleeping on the couch, it was helping no one and it only left her sore after she woke up. In the four days she’d been cooped up in her apartment she must have slept twice. Not for very long each time.

The ringing started again, the cells ringtone seeming to get louder the longer it went unanswered and flimsy hands reached for it on the floor. Bleary eyes read, ‘ _Blow me’._ Even half-asleep Korra chuckled to herself.

She answered on the fourth ring. “Go away.”

**[Your door’s locked]**

“What?"

She heard loud pounding. **[Your. Door Is. Locked. Open up.]**

Taking her time, she sat up, her threadbare couch sagging and creaking as she shifted her weight. Leaning back on it she blew out her cheeks and opened her eyes. Golden sunlight filtered froml through the drawn blinds, alongside the kerfuffle of city traffic. Strings of different colors—red, yellow, green—were fastened by meansof pins on the wall in criss-cross. One end of each pin over headshots, local newspaper articles and a map of Republic City. If not for the hazardous state of her office, she would have forgotten yesterday's all-nighter.

Another bout of banging startled her.

“Korra!”

“I’m gonna kill him," she grumbled. Sifting past the colorful string and food packets littering her office floor, Korra staggered out into the hallway; she had to drag herself, as though sludging through quicksand. She tore open the front door and glared vehemently at Kai.

“Good morning to you too,” he said with a grin plastered on his face. It was more jarring than the morning sun; she tried not to wince.

“Why so early? You better have a good reason.”

“I’m still on Fire Nation time, it’s eleven-thirty in the morning, and—” he held up a brown case file “—this. So, that’s three reasons.”

“It's too early for this.”

“I literally just said it’s eleven-thirty. If you hate sleep so much, why don’t you just get augmented?”

She made a face.

He rolled his eyes. “Just get dressed. We’re grabbing brunch and I’m not going out with you looking like that.”

She slammed the door.

The Eats & Treats cafe across the street from the complex had good coffee and even better pancakes. The rank smell of coffee heady in the air. There was a line of construction trolls, office fae, and tourists waiting on their breakfast bagels. Several couples leaned over their cappuccinos at the chic chrome tables, whilst laughing groups crowded the booths at the back.

Korra had taken a quick shower and was now seated in a booth in the corner of the coffeehouse. Her table partner sat opposite her in jeans, lace-up boots, and a leather jacket zipped up to the neck. They ordered bagels and pancakes with some crispy bacon, sausages, and pork on the side while they talked. Mostly about Kai’s honeymoon. A bit about Korra. It was the last thing she wanted to discuss, but she didn’t mind the distraction. After the last couple of days, it was welcome.

“You know, the last time we had a case together I was on anti-anxiety medication for a month,” Kai laughed. “It’s partly your fault Jinora’s got me on this crazy diet.”

Korra bit her lip. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have used you as bait,” she said guiltily. It was sort of a last resort, and an unfortunate series of events left Kai’s nerves shot afterwards—literally and figuratively. They were tracking a serial killer who kept slipping through their fingers at the time, but at least they had caught the guy. Another maniac off the streets.

“So, how’s Kuvira?” Kai asked, wiggling his brows.

Korra’s mouth narrowed into a thin line. “I don’t know. We broke up a few months ago.”

Kai's smiled faltered. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How could you have known?”

He shrugged, scratching his neck. “Are you okay, though? I mean, it must have been—”

“I’m fine,” she cut off. Which sounded like bullshit when she said it, and she knew it. Workaholic syndrome on both sides meant that she and Kuvira spent so much time avoiding each other that their relationship had always been ripe with friction. The physical intimacy didn’t make up for the distance and constant lack of communication. And when they did speak, the one was being demanding of the other. Korra understood Kuvira had a difficult past, but not being the most patient person, she also felt frustrated that her ex-girlfriend hadn’t trusted her enough to confide. How they'd lasted a year was beyond her.

Kai’s green eyes considered her for a moment. After what felt like a couple of pensive minutes, he let it drop.

She sipped her coffee, glaring at the mug to stop her fidgeting. This conversation was making her uncomfortable. After a while she had to sit on her hands to stop the incessant tingling in her fingers. Irritation pricked at her. She wasn’t the one who left. Feeling sorry for herself only made her feel worse anyway, so why was she doing it?

At that moment their food arrived. The detectives stayed quiet until the waitress was out of earshot. Then Korra asked, “So, how’s the investigation going?”

Instantly Kai’s face darkened. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Let’s put it this way. I’ve never really liked Mako, but it isn’t fair what happened to him either. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Have you seen him?” she asked.

Kai nodded. “I actually went down to see him yesterday afternoon because I hadn’t actually seen him before. He looked terrible. I was hoping I could get something from him but he was too far gone to interrogate.”

There was no conversation while they ate. Which didn’t take long. Korra almost inhaled her bagel, and Kai ate his bacon and sausages like he was taking on fuel for a tough road ahead. Neither of them were tasting the food. The coffee was done just as quickly. Korra decided she hadn’t quite had enough and signaled for more before picking up the case file. Already heavy with everything Kai had picked up over the last four days. Witness statements. Photographic material. Forensics. Suspect history and backgrounds. He had marked it all in scribbles and circles. Noting what he deemed important in red ink.

“You’ve been busy,” she said, smiling. “You also ratted yourself out to Tenzin.”

Kai held up his hands in defense. “Okay, I admit I shot myself in the foot with that one, but if you saw the way those bushy eyebrows stared me down, you would’ve cracked too.”

"Trust me, I would _never_ have cracked. But I’m guessing Tenzin doesn’t know about this, does he?”

“No,” he mumbled in between bites of sausage. “And this time we’re both keeping our lips sealed. I don’t like working around him but I needed to show you something.”

She pulled her face. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Kai childishly stuck out his tongue. Making her laugh. He took a mouthful of coffee, wiped his hands and lips with a napkin, then sat back in his chair. There was something on his mind, but Korra sipped her own coffee and waited for him to get his thoughts in order.

With a sigh, he said, “I can’t stop thinking about the case. A lot of things don't make sense. Like the scene of the crime. What I don’t like about it is how the victims, and Mako, were all specifically on the top floor. It just feels bit too...staged. At any point, Mako could’ve just left. Why didn’t he?”

Korra raised her eyes to the ceiling and thought it over for a minute. “Compulsion?”

“That’s possible too. It's easier on humans, but difficult on a vampire. It’d take time.”

“Three weeks worth of time? And if it was staged, then someone set up one hell of a horror show just for us to find."

"You've been reading Jinora's criminal psych books again," Korra said.

"She just leaves them lying around."

"Maybe she knows you like to read them."

"Maybe." He cracked a smile, however was more concerned with their present situation. "Who would go through the trouble?”

“Well, Varrick is the most viable suspect at this point.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we can bring him in for questioning," said Kai. "I’ve got a few of the boys watching his businesses and mansion up in the Heights. I’ve even got a couple of informants keeping their ear to the ground. No one’s seen him. It’s as if he’s dropped off the face of the earth.”

It always seemed that way, didn’t it? But no one truly disappears. Wherever they step, whatever they touch, whatever they leave behind, even unconsciously, serves as a silent witness against them. Not only fingerprints or footprints, but their hair, little fibers from their clothes, the footmarks they leave, the restaurant, cafe or club the frequent at. Evidence doesn’t forget. It isn’t confused by the excitement of a moment. It isn’t absent because human witnesses are. It’s factual. Physical evidence can’t be wrong. It can’t perjure itself. Even the most careful person leaves a trail. A pattern to follow.

Varrick couldn’t hide forever. There were ways to find him.

Kai leaned forward on the table and lowered his voice. “So question, what does the scandal involving the death of a well-known senator in a nightclub, the overdose of a famous siren pop-star, Mako’s unfortunate involvement in the death of six people, and a shipment of stolen _dappo_ all have in common?”

“Well, according to your bright red diorama—Iknik Blackstone Varrick,” Korra said, grimly

“Right." He nodded. “Sponsor of said pop-star. Owner of not one but two gambling palaces—one luxurious and catering to the rich in the Heights, the other catering to men with less lining their pockets. A global shipping business billionaire tycoon, with several stakes in high-end companies—one of which is Future Industries Tech, and—”

“And the owner of an illegal fight club,” Korra added. "Where are you going with this?"

Kai flipped a page to the witness statements. “This guy right here,” he pointed out. “Richard Crossby. I sat him down in the chair and he folded like a deck of cards."

“What’s his connection to the case?”

Kai went over the statement of the forty-three year old security guard at Blackstone Harbor. Crossby described seeing Mako from every evening to early morning, leaving just before the sun came up. It was considered trespassing but no matter what, you don’t approach a vampire you don’t know. Blood banks sated their hunger and only a select few preferred the thrill of the hunt, but caution trumped all else. Nine am one night—Crossby remembered the time precisely—he was making his hourly patrols when someone grabbed him from behind. He hadn’t seen who it was, only that there were two of them. Orc males. He fought back. They tussled. One of them jabbed him in the gut and threw a hood over his head. It all happened so quickly but there was a flash of red and one of his attackers was thrown to the ground. Mako. The vampire told Crossby to run just before an _electric_ got him in the back and a group of hooded men carried him away. Crossby escaped with just a couple of bruises. A day later the guard got a call from a man threatening to harm his family if he went to the police about what happened the night before. According to the man, the security guard didn’t see a thing. They paid him well to stay quiet.

Kai said, “Guess who showed up dead yesterday?”

“You think they silenced him because he was talking to an investigator."

Kai shook his head.

"No," he said. "They didn’t know about that. If they had, they’d have got to him much earlier. The day I picked him up, at the latest. He was told to cover up what went down at the docks Thursday night. They figured he couldn’t be allowed to talk to the cops, and tried to keep it quiet at first. Then I pulled him in. He was the only link we had to exactly what the hell went down that night."

The Triads are known for their aggressive tactics. Hanging a man by the jowls for crossing them counted as a warning. The quesion was, which Triad?

Korra flipped another page and settled on eerily soulless eyes. "The woman with the tattoo on her back…" she picked up the mugshot. "And head? Talk about stalker vibes.”

Kai chuckled. “P'Li Zader. Former military; dishonorable discharge. Been in the PI/Hunter business for almost a decade now. She showed up in the system for multiple assault charges, and a couple restraining orders.”

“Okay, so she’s an ex-soldier with a short fuse. What’s her connection to Varrick?”

“A concussion, four broken ribs, a fractured pelvis, punctured lungs, a torn hole in her bladder—"

“How does listing injuries help me understand how she’s connected to Varrick?”

“Jinora also found ante-mortem bruising on the abdomen, three previously cracked ribs, and a boxer’s fracture."

“Those coulda just been from Mako. Zader doesn’t look the type to go down without a fight.”

“True, but the bruising is about a month old. She traded fists with someone else before she traded fists with Mako.”

Korra knew where he was going with this. It all made sense now. P'Li must have been a fighter in Varrick’s underground fight club—the _Hell Pit_ , he called it. It was the most likely place they could’ve crossed paths because Varrick liked to brandish his best fighters on their lower back. His way of stating ownership.

So, Zader somehow tracked Mako to the building—most likely under Varrick’s orders—didn’t realize what she would find and walked right into an early grave. But what did Varrick want with Mako? In their time together, Korra had not once seen a brand on the vampire. Hers still burned into her skin; the specially made ink never came off. Not for anything.

“What do you remember about the Pits?” Kai asked.

Korra held back a shudder, hand fisting under the table. “Everything. You don’t just forget a place like that.”

Sometimes she wished she had never found it in the first place. Nothing was more enticing to a reckless, angry teenager than having to pummel another person into the ground with her fists. The bruises and the money came and went, but the cold anger didn’t just burn out. So Korra went back. And went back. And kept going back. Until it all came to a screeching halt when she was arrested during a police raid when she was seventeen. No time served. Somehow she got off with a warning from Tenzin of all people and after that got help from Kai in cleaning up her act. Rehab set a bit of stability back into her life. She tried to put her ghosts behind her.

It’d take some time, but she’d get there. Eventually.

As she shook away dark thoughts, she waded through the rest of the file. A lot of it she could skim through on a quick scan. She looked at the photographs. That was where the real story was. Crime scene photos don’t lie. They’re not witnesses. They can’t make a mistake, they can’t hide the truth. She’d already been in the physical space, got a sense of the murder scene, the geography, room layout. The photos were just an added incentive. Copies she could run over and over whenever she wanted.

She read the medical examiner’s report from the building scene. It gave a detailed description of the positioning and injuries to the body. The first batch of photos had been taken the same night she called up Tenzin, and the flash shone vividly on the ghastly white faces.

The second batch was taken in the morgue. A body labeled Carl Trippet lay naked on the steel table. She saw, for the first time, the thin purple bruises across his stomach and chest. Besides the fact that the guy looked like he was run over by a truck, the report stipulated the injuries occured before he was already dead. The bruising meant that he’d bled out long before the vampire tore through his body and turned him into a meal, and yet there were no defensive wounds. No cuts or bruises on his arms or hands. It appeared as though the second or third stab wound must have been fatal. Or at least enough to render him immobile.

“The stab victim...Carl Trippet. What’s up with him?” she asked.

“One of the five dock workers,” Kai replied. “I’m still wrapping my head around why he was the only victim turned into a human pin-cushion, but what I do know is that when that toxicology report came back it showed that Trippet and Mako both had enough _anfetamins_ in their systems to drug a lion turtle.”

Korra sat back in her chair. Mako had a history of minor misdemeanors. Being a nightclub bouncer came with its fair share of drunken spites, but he was never the aggressive type. Not a junkie either. Mako was too careful, too calculated…it wasn’t like him to sniff about a pound of tainted _dappo._

Something was off about this.

“The statement from Rich Crossby," she said, "that gives us a date stamp. Right?"

“Right,” Kai nodded. “And it also tells us why the five other people were in the building with Mako. Someone must have nabbed them like they tried to do with Crossby.”

Which meant someone used the vampire as a guinea pig and the victims as lunch. She wanted to know who. If the Triple Threats wanted Mako dead for becoming a police informant, there were easier ways to mop-up a loose end They weren't the only person.

Her uncle. Mako was present when the politician died, if anyone wanted him dead it’d be Unalaq. And Tahno got him off on charges; got a hefty fee for it too. Unalaq was off the hook and out of his shackles before anyone had time to process him.

That was what happened when you had the district attorney on speed dial, and a good one at that. Korra knew Tahno had a reputation for sweet-hearting jurors. It was that southern accent of his, people ate it right up. Here you got your top of the mill lawyers in a murder case who clog up the witness stand with every cop, profiler, forensic analyst and expert they can possibly think off. If a cop stopped his car at the murder scene delivering doughnuts for his friends who hadn’t clocked off for hours, you can bet your dollar he would be called as a witness.

Tahno was the opposite. He ran a murder trial in Ba Sing Se around eight years ago. The trial had been scheduled to last six weeks. Tahno had brought home a not guilty verdict in four days. He only called essential witnesses, and never kept them waiting on the stand for too long. Many believed it was a risky tactic, and yet it always paid off.

They called him a revolutionary strategist. A lone ranger the DA called in whenever they needed to get the job done. Korra called him a pain in her ass. Tahno was one of the best the city had to offer. He had a license to practice law in around twenty states and only ever did murder trials. On occasion, he was a prosecutor, but he always defended. And he always won. It didn’t matter if the trial lasted six months or six hours. His fee was always the same. Why do six months work when you get paid the same for winning in half the time. Korra could barely count the number of baddies who walked out of that courtroom scot-free thanks to him.

Tahno was a businessman who knew what he was doing, and was quite annoyingly protective of his clientele. You'd need enough subpoenas to wallpaper a bathroom before you got anywhere near his clients.

“Is it too late to ask for you to stay out of the case?” Kai said, interrupting her thoughts.

"I woulda just ignored you either way," she said with a crooked grin. "It’s what I’m good at."

Kai was shaking his head. "You still don't think Mako did it."

"You still do?"

"The evidence tells me he did. I got to stick to the facts. Jinora matched the imprint on the victim's neck to Mako's canines, and that's about as accurate as a fingerprint. He has Triad ties. It's possible something happened that could've pulled him back in."

"No," she said adamantly. "No. There's got to be a better explanation."

"Well, what ? We asked him to explain. He didn't. The plea deal from Iroh was the only thing that kept him out of jail."

"That was my idea. Iroh took credit for my suggestion."

"It's not about credit, Korra. We're all doing the same job here. Why are you making this personal?”

"It’s not personal.”

“Don’t bullshit me. I’m not Tenzin. I know that if you had to choose, you’d keep fighting this until your credibility was gone, but right now I need—"

She blinked. The sound of Kai’s voice came to her through a haze of jumbled static that was lost to her. Korra was more aware of the incessant pounding in her head than the words that spewed from his mouth.

Korra really wanted to punch him in the face right now. He was listening, but at the same time sounded just like Tenzin. She had been worried from the start, and all this new information was doing nothing to quell her anxiety. She thought about the laptop back in her apartment. The call. Asami Sato. Korra thought about telling Kai. She _should_ tell him. It was all too coincidental. No. No. There was no need to involve him. She could deal with this herself, and keep her friends out of whatever mess it could become. That's what was best.

But then again...

Kai must have noticed the strained look on her face. He had a pinched sort of look himself. "If you have something to say, spit it out,” he said.

“It’s nothing. I just want more coffee.” 

She hailed a waitress.

For a moment Kai’s face lost the pinched look, and Korra saw suspicion in his eyes. He was passively prompting her for more. She didn’t give him anything.

He said, “You’ve had three cups already, are you trying to get buzzed?”

“I just want more coffee."

The waitress approached, Kai held up a hand to stop her. “No. We don’t do this, Korra. Tell me what’s going on.”

"I don’t feel like having an argument right now."

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothings going on!” She yelled a little too loudly. Actually, really, really loudly. So much so that the cafe fell silent. Everyone looked at their table, startled by the sudden outburst. The waitress awkwardly shuffled away.

The detective rubbed her temples. _I_ _’_ _m_ _trying to do the right thing, why is he_ _being so difficult?_

Every time she trusted her instincts she seemed to be going against her team. Every time. Biting off the heads of the people trying to help her was not a good look. She rose from her chair.

“Where are you going?”

"Home."

She tossed a stack of bills, on the table, grabbed her jacket and turned to leave. Kai’s hand snaked out. Fast. He grabbed her wrist. She stopped. A dumb move. He quickly pulled back with a hiss. Shook out his stinging hand. 

"That was uncalled for,” he said, glowering.

It wasn't intentional, but she didn’t stick around to apologise. Didn't care that everyone watched her as she left the cafe.

Outside, it was cold, and that’s what she needed right now. People mulled about; lives busy. Her feet took her across the street. She didn’t bother to look up the whole way to the complex. Not once. Not even when harsh words came her way from aggravated drivers, and when she reached the elevator, the ride up seemed a blur. She didn't remember stepping off and walking to the door of her apartment. Her keys rattled in the lock as she fumbled to open it. Three tries then her fist took a chunk out of the old plaster that peeled away from the corridor wall. Hard.

It didn’t matter that her fist ached or that she might have sprained her hand, she needed to let the anger out somehow. Head down she rested it against the door, taking deep breaths.

One. Two. Three.

When her mind cooled, the keys finally did their job and the door shut behind her. She rolled her shoulders, shrugged off her jacket, made her way to the bathroom.

She filled the basin with cold water and put her face beneath the surface. Held it there until she felt her cheeks begin to sting.

She then fished out her cell and quickly made a call.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had me...fluctuating?  
> I can't think of a word right now, but I hope it's to your enjoyment.  
> I had fun writing this one.

Korra needed a couple of hours of downtime, just to let things work out in her head. The earlier splash of water hadn’t helped and now she needed another way to cool down; one that didn’t involve getting drunk. Exercise was that compromise.

Five hundred push-ups.

A thousand sit-ups.

Twenty minutes of stretching.

When her hair lay like a second skin over her cheeks, the earlier shower suddenly felt like a waste, but the pleasant burn of muscles being worked out felt good; relaxed her. Her biceps felt hard, strong. From the age of sixteen, Korra had hit the gym. She ate right and worked out hard every day. Back then it was just to ward off bullies and to keep up with what the Pit threw at her. What they saw was an angry teenage girl still skinny from fast growth, non-threatening. Within a few years, she had built a physique suitable for her extracurricular activities. Strong, lean, fit—can’t be bullied.

She pushed up off the floor and into the bathroom. Ran the shower, washed-up, put on a clean set of clothes, and made her way down to the yard. Not long afterward, Naga was saddled and they rode north.

The city changed every few minutes as they raced down the wide trafficked streets. They passed a bunch of grungy hipsters camped out in front of City Hall. Their colorful banners and flags protesting the building of a new highway the mayor was trying to squeeze in.

As if the money couldn’t be used for something better.

Before she’d left the apartment, Korra had called and apologized to Kai for blowing-up on him in the cafe. He’d, of course, laughed it off, said it was alright and that it wasn’t the first time he’d been burned for ticking her off. She had listened when he’d told her that a call came in about a ten-fifteen south of Downtown RC. A civil disturbance. Kai had been vague about the details but told her that a Nephilim had left a bowling alley in ashes. The wreck leaving an undetermined number of casualties.

Korra had heard every story under the sun but raised an eyebrow at this one. Nephillim generally kept themselves to themselves, and rarely caused trouble for the police or any other Republic City occupant.

Kai was already on his way to the scene when they’d eventually agreed to talk later. He again told her to lay off Mako’s case, to be careful if she wouldn’t listen, then left it at that.

It wasn’t stubbornness that had stopped her from asking Kai for help; it was the fact that she knew with bone-deep certainty that he would without a second thought. Just like he had all the other times.

This one she’d go at alone

Thirty minutes into the ride they entered Suburbia. The huge middle class that sat in the center of the city. With its parks and small wild spaces, and its rows of uniform houses and neatly mowed lawns green even in the winter. Where people worked all their waking hours to give their kids music lessons, ski lessons, two sports clubs, and foreign vacations. It was the middle Korra grew up in—with bittersweet memories.

Past all of that, they approached the cemetery near the old bell-tower.

Naga reigned to a stop and the detective slid off, breathing in the fresh air.

It wasn’t her first visit to Avatar Meadow Graveyard, but it had been a while. She could see a few people walking the grounds. Mouths’ moving in a way that made it seem as though they were talking to themselves whilst they chatted on with their dead companions. Not many people could see or hear ghosts, not unless the ghosts chose to be heard or a talisman allowed _sight_. Korra was one of the many few who could either way.

She walked past the wrought iron gates set into the high stone archway overgrown with snake-vine. Waved at a pale spirit who dipped his top-hat at her in greeting. In the daytime, the engraved tombstones were a pleasant sight—grey and fetching in the midday sun. Keeping their duty even as time wore the messages they bore.

A lizard-crow perched on a dead branch cawed. She took account of the cracks in the pale concrete path that took her past the aging cherry blossom tree. It always felt like the tree was watching her whenever she walked by towards the Fire Nation burial chamber. On any given day, she would’ve been fine. On any given day, she’d have her gun holstered.

At the entrance of the mossy crypt sat a Stonekeeper.

Her mouth curved into a smile. “You look even greyer today, Slab.”

The creature rose, towering its gravelly, grey body over her in menacing stoicism. It frowned and took a firmer grip on the long spear it was holding. “The living are not welcome in these crypts,” it said in its rough tone.

Korra raised a brow. This was how newcomers were greeted. “You okay there, Slab? Catch a cold or something?” The guardian had no sense of humor, or a name, but she always said hello and it would huff back a response.

Today the Stonekeeper responded by tipping the edge of its spear and pointing it firmly at her chest. Korra pushed it away. She didn’t have time for this. She reached into her jacket pocket for her mother’s white moonstone necklace and dangled it in front of the keeper’s face.

She recited the mantra.

 _T_ _wo_ _black nights, blackest day. Twice before death, not a breath I make._ _They sleep,_ _t_ _hey weep,_ _g_ _rant_ _me_ _passage_ _and_ _not a soul I will r_ _eap._

Expectedly, the necklace took on its familiar eerie blue glow that shone against the keeper’s concrete skin, even in daylight. The mantra was an annoying mouthful, but the only way to pass if you had the right talisman. The oldest of ghosts lay in this chamber, and anyone could make a quick dime if they sold the somber spirits to the right person.

It felt like an hour passed before the guard raised its head and lowered the spear. “Granted,” it said and stood aside.

“Thanks.” Korra pat the guardian on the shoulder and pocketed the necklace before slipped inside.

The winding stone stairwell was narrow and she could feel the iciness down each step. A breeze blew into the black depths, pulling strands of hair past her face. It was always cold in the crypt, but somehow dry, and the wind always blew inward. It didn’t bother her, but she never quite understood why. Skipping the last two steps, she landed on the ground with a thud that echoed through the darkness. She reached over her shoulder into her backpack, drew out a flashlight, flicked it on, and swept the beam in a wide semicircle. While she might be used to the dark, she wasn’t foolish enough to trust it down here.

Shadows moved and lurched as her heels clicked down the brick path. The ground was covered in decades of dust. Cobwebs hung off the pillars and coffins where the dead lay in their stony caskets that contained their mortal remains. Arched brick tunnels stretched off into three directions. A sweep of the light revealed a hint of footsteps much larger than her own tracking from the passages. She crouched down to observe them: size thirteen, male, dress shoe.

_Weird._

Ever since she’d first discovered the crypt in her teens, no one else had ever come down here. No one she’d ever encountered anyway.

Scouting the chamber would take time, and there were no other tracks. She flashed a picture with her phone, making a digital note for later, and took the middle passage downward another set of stairs. She took a few corners, stopped at last and shone the light at the face of ‘The Dragon’, smiling at the general’s likeness carved into stone. Further ahead the crypt continued on into the darkness, but beyond this point, the tombs lay empty; black holes waiting for the living.

“Iroh.” She whispered.

Nothing. She called again.

Foggy wisps of breath left her lips. The air chilling through to her bones, depriving her of the warmth she was so used to. As if it couldn’t get any colder, the general’s wrinkled old body fazed through the top of the coffin as he sat up and smiled at her.

“Ah, little warmblood,” he greeted. “Back so soon?”

The last she'd seen him was a month ago. Iroh was a strong spirit, one of the strongest Korra had ever encountered. In the darkness, he hardly looked transparent. His body was somewhat solid, fire nation robes covering every inch of it, his long white hair and beard stood out against the solemn gloom. Only his eyes were hollow, twin blue flames flickering in their depths. He moved toward her with that gliding motion peculiar to ghosts and crossed his legs in lotus form before her.

She flicked off the torch. “The guard stopped me on the way in, and I saw footprints coming from the passages. Who else was here?”  


“What, not going to say hello, little one?”

Korra grinned, shaking her head. “You look great. Even better than Ozai and his grumpy self. Now, back to the guard?”

“How nice of you to notice!” Iroh exclaimed. “As for the guard, well, old age tends to…do as it does. Even to the dead.”

“But Stonekeepers aren’t dead, and they never forget a face. You told me that yourself.”

“I did, didn’t I,” he said, absently stroking his beard.

“Who else was here?” she asked again.

Iroh just shrugged.

Korra gave an irritated shake of her head. This would have to be a conversation for later.

She dropped the backpack on the ground and took out a stack of books. “I brought you some gifts.” Iroh beamed. Being a bookworm, the novels kept the ghost busy in the bleakness; he cherished each and every paperback Korra had brought him, and enjoyed the secrets held between the pages. Until she found his talisman, that last piece of his past that would finally allow him to die, she’d help him make the most of his time. His family was never a subject they broached, but she always wondered why he’d been buried here, far from them and his home in the Fire Nation.

After placing the new books on the stone slab, she tossed the old ones into the backpack and zipped it up. She hesitated before standing. Something was bothering her, but it wasn’t what she’d come for. She wasn’t sure if it was worth mentioning to the ghost.

“Go on,” he said, startling her. “Ask whatever it is that is on your mind.”

“How did you know I wanted to ask something?”

“It does not take a ghost to know when you are curious, little one. You have been bursting with a question since the minute you arrived. What is it?”

She bit her lip.

Iroh tipped his head and glanced at her sideways. “Have you again lost your recipe for leech-foot?"

Korra scrunched her nose. She could still taste the acrid elixir on her tongue. “No. My last batch is still doing its job, so I’m good. I think.”

“Oh? Then, you must be back for another game of Pai Sho.” Iroh materialized a table and chairs before sitting down—of sorts. The ghost moved a white piece on the board and grinned at her. “Your move.”

The detective sighed inwardly. “I didn’t come for a game, Iroh. Not after the last time.” She tentatively reached into the front pocket of her backpack. The golden headpiece glinted when she took it out and held it up to the ghost. “What can you tell me about this?”

A curious look took over the dead face as he cleared the board, table, and chairs, solidifying a hand long enough to take the headpiece from her. She watched his hollow eyes flame as he examined the golden object in his palm. “The details,” he said. “Moulded gold, carved insignia...where did you get this, little one? gift for a significant other perhaps?”

“Uh, no," she dismissed. "Nothing like that.” Iroh returned the headpiece, and she pocketed it when the ghost began to shimmer and fade. “Before you go. I’ve got one more question.”

The spirit flickered in response and the effort of remaining visible. “Ask away.”

“You fought in the hundred-year war, alongside Takeshi Sato, right?”

Iroh nodded. “They called him ‘The Tiger’. A man with a brilliant strategic mind, loyal and astute, but with the patience of an ill-tempered nun due to his passionate nature. I always found him a bit too wound up, much like my nephew.”

“Were you guys close?” Korra asked.

Iroh laughed. The sound was surprisingly human-like as it bounced off the walls. That…had never happened before. It was new, and it made her skin crawl.

“Did you just—

“As close as can be during a time of hostility,” Iroh said thoughtfully. The ghost floated up to her. “May I?” He asked, raising his hands to sides of her head.

Korra sighed as she nodded. “Fine. But make it qui—"

She inhaled sharply when the general possessed her body, but it took no time at all to adjust to the intrusion. In her mind's eye he showed her a cascade of images like something out of an action movie: the thunderclap of large explosions; drilling gunfire; men, women, and children being slaughtered; cities burning…

She shuddered.

“The war was a difficult time for the world. Death tainted every breath; living and dead. It split families, towns, regions, and nations. Spread fear and not a little confusion. No one understood why the supernatural world suddenly crawled from the deepest depths of every dark hole in the earth, and we, humans, fought to send them back by attacking them with fire and metal. Not willing to share a world with the monsters that already inhabited it.”

“Were you ever scared?”

Iroh nodded. “Every day. It was a harrowing time for all. One hundred years of bloodshed. Millions dead—soldiers and civilians. My family…”

Korra heard the cry of a child, somewhere, somewhere…

...then all fell silent. A thick green mist had settled on her, refusing to shift. No matter how bright the day was she could feel no sun, heard no bird song. A sadness flowed through her veins; but the sadness…it wasn't hers.

“The gas killed many,” said Iroh. “Not once did we think to care for those caught in the crossfires of the chaos. In war, they say ‘To the victor go the spoils,’. But when nothing is left, there is nothing to take.”

Slowly, the images faded. She blinked, feeling a drunken kind of blindness when Iroh left her. She blinked again and the blindness subside, put out a hand to steady herself on the wall when she swayed.

“I…still…hate…doing that.”

Iroh chuckled. “That is why I ask first.”

“You…know…” she heaved. “It’s… a little…ironic…that you’re a ghost now.” Her composure took a while to regain and she straightened when it did, clearing her throat. “By the way, did you by any chance know his grandson? Hiroshi Sato?”

The spirit thought for a moment, then shook his head. “If I had, I cannot remember now. I am sorry, little one.” Her shoulders hunched. The general stared at her inquisitively. “Why so curious, little one? I am certain you no longer have history assignments to complete.”

Her watch beeped before she could answer and she quickly covered it with a hand to cut the noise. _Time to go._ Korra slung the backpack over her shoulder, said, “Thanks for the history lesson.”

“Any time.” Iroh quipped. And with that, the spirit vanished.

Naga was patiently waiting for her outside, thumping her tail with a joyful bark when she saw her owner. Korra scratched her ear. Once on the polar bear-dog’s back, they kicked off at a steady pace.

  
  


*

  
  


Yangchen plaza was a culture shock different from the city. It didn’t look like much on the outside, but she had learned that the plaza marched to its own beat.

As soon as Korra walked under the red archway, a man put a snake around her neck then demanded she pay him for the privilege. “You don’t work for free, miss, and neither do I,” he said, flashing her a gap-toothed grin. She glared at him and returned the dark-eyed reptile. She wasn’t in the mood and could already feel a headache forming.

She made down the first row of the open-air plaza.

With dozens of businesses, the place was a tourist hot-spot. It was as crowded as McDonald’s on a Saturday afternoon, and Korra, in particular, didn’t like it. The constant hustle and bustle, shoes being trodden on, bumping into people, the bombardment of spices, snake charmers, acrobats, and fortune-tellers enriched an already exotic destination—but keep an eye on your wallet. The plaza was known for relentless pestering and petty swindling. The entire population of visitors seemed to gravitate towards central square, to see, be seen or be photographed with a cobra dangling around their neck. Apothecaries tout herbal remedies and heap colored spices into perfectly shaped pyramids while in the main square the pyramids are comprised of humans

She wove her way through the riot of color, steering clear of the spice aisle. She didn’t need to be sneezing her ears off while she completed the next hour's business.

Slowing pace, she turned down onto a quiet walkway. Visitors preferred to keep to the broad, well-lit paths of the plaza, and all footpaths eventually lead to the Red Lantern District – a psychedelic space where acrobats, snake charmers, fortune-tellers and musicians competed for your attention. The pandemonium peaking at sunset. Drummers thumped from noon to night, men in flowing robes offered games of chance (“Pick a card sir, any card”) and the street performers were so accomplished you sensed they must hold auditions behind the bazaar.

Many who chose to visit the district dressed in a queer variety of clothes, all of it bright. They donned costumes in an assortment of veils, masks and capes—bought in the many specialty shops—with nothing but the glint of their eyes visible, and often disappeared for days and weeks at a time from their companions to explore the pleasure houses. In her jeans, leather jacket, and plain t-shirt, she didn’t blend into the scenery.

Everything was brighter than it should’ve been; the artificial trees were not just green but bright iridescent hues that burned themselves in Korra’s sleepy retinas. The exquisitely decorated brothels were arranged around a central courtyard filled with plants, trickling fountains and other eye-catching water features. The buildings were as gay as if they’d been repainted by moonlight and the road that should’ve been gray was a sleek river of black with perfect paint lines, and the streetlamps were blue. Everything was so right it was wrong—really wrong.

Each of the major pleasure houses had a specialty, some more obvious than others. The House of The Red Lotus was one of the more luxurious establishments. The kind of place with a perfumed atmosphere made all the more inviting by music and well-groomed subservient staff; catering to a particular clientele exchanging tokens of a mundane lifestyle for passionate frivolity.

When Korra stepped through the doors, she resisted the urge to bury her nose in her collar. Zaheer, the ponce who ran the Red Lotus, liked his girls to be as sweet-smelling as the spring blossoms in The Fire Nation. That kept clients happy, who were none the wiser to the false advertisement.

The elven-boy at the reception desk was dressed in a velvet suit, a red rose clipped to his vest. The room filled with men and women. Many masked and waiting on elegant leather couches, whilst nibbling on little moon cakes and sipping expensive red wine.

The clerk's pink lips curled into a practiced smile, revealing sharp incisors that could split a jugular. “Detective Waters,” he said. The girl standing beside Korra giggled, and she swore a few patrons stiffened as well. “Ginger is with a client at the moment, but I believe you have her scheduled for the rest of the day.”

“I think I’ll wait upstairs."

The boy nodded as she slipped down a hallway, and up a staircase. Ginger’s room was on the fourth floor. The door closed when she arrived on the landing, so she lent on a wall, waited. Minutes ticking by.

No sounds came from inside. No groaning or pleasurable moaning. Most of the people who came to the Red Lotus knew what they wanted. The women came in a few classic types, catering to the sultriest of fetishes. Ulike a lot of the women here, Ginger didn’t need a bed—or equipment. She specialized in emotions. She slowed heartbeats, relaxed muscles, eased restless minds. Zaheer had stumbled on her fishing his mind one day and hired her on the spot. She'd had a lucrative side business as a clairvoyant seeing to the wealthy, pompous aristocratic _Heighters_ , but her chief source of income came from altering moods. People came to her lonely and grieving, angry and sad for no reason in particular; then left feeling joyful and calm, a confident skip in their steps. What used to be grief became joy. Fear gave way to tranquility—anxieties somewhat eased.

The effect didn’t last long, but sometimes the illusion of happiness meant her clients had enough peace to feel like they could face another day.

Korra checked her watch: 13:29

When the half-hour chimed, the door opened and she straightened. A bald man stepped out. He kissed Ginger’s hand. “Thank you, my dear.” 

“It was my pleasure,” Ginger said in solemn tones. “Come back any time.”

The man kissed her hand again, and they parted.

As soon as the client was down the stairs, Korra's face split into a wide grin at the woman swathed in red _._ Ginger didn’t look particularly happy to see her. That was no surprise. A copper at your door was rarely a good thing.

Ginger was older than Korra by a few years, and their acquaintanceship had mostly been limited to her visits to the Lotus house, both as a client and as an occasional guest. The auditor's usual manner to he detective had been fairly civil but with warmth, as no doubt Korra's to Ginger's.

“Well don’t just stand there.” The halfling stood back to let the detective show herself in. 

She began shucking off the _s_ _atin_ _chiton_ , not giving a thought to Korra’s presence.

“ _Spirits_ , I hate this thing,” she said, kicking the dress away and disappearing into the closet space.

Korra closed the door behind her, dropping the backpack. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It itches and fits in all the wrong places. Zaheer and his flimsy customs,” Ginger muttered vehemently The auditor returned a moment later, having pulled on a rose-colored dressing gown that highlighted her olive eyes.

Ginger liked expensive things, and it was no doubt expensive. She singled out on a chair next to a small round table and shoved one of the moon cakes from the coffee service into her mouth, moaning contentedly.

Korra shook her head, amused and impressed at how the other woman dropped the seductive _Majo_ act so quickly without a care. She’d definitely missed her true calling on the stage.

“You’re getting crumbs all over your gown.”

“Don’t care,” Ginger mumbled, taking another bite of cake. “After sifting through that grieving saps mind, I’m starving.”

“And what was wrong with him?” Korra asked.

“His cat recently died and his OCD has been a wreck ever since. He’s been coming here for almost a month now to spend some _quality_ time with her.”

“I’m pretty sure he knows it’s all in his head, but is visiting you helping in any way?”

“He’s a lot calmer whenever he visits, but I don’t expect much change.”

“Right," Korra said, pretending to examine a bronze statue in her hands. “So, if you can make him feel better, cure his woe and all that…why can’t you just make him forget?”

“I’m not a magician." Ginger finished off the last of the cakes, clearing away the crumbs with a shake of her hands, then set the tray outside her door and rang for a maid. “Altering the neural pathways in a person’s mind can’t just happen at the snap of a finger.”

“How about with a bit of time?”

“Maybe, but the brain is incredibly complex. A lot of things could go wrong, and I’m not about to risk all of this lavishness on a little experiment. 

“Getting comfortable, Ging?”

"Hardly."

Korra looked around the room, slightly confused. “Where’s all your stuff? You know, the books, figurines, artwork. I know I haven’t been here for a while, but I can tell it’s different.”

Ginger sat down in front of a mirror, shrugged. “Didn’t see any reason to clutter the space.”

“Oh.”

Without being invited, Korra sat down on a plush chaise and stretched out her legs. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the couch, listening to the light patter of bare feet on hardwood floors.

The movements stilled.

“I got new makeup."

Korra opened her eyes and stared into bright green irises, face resolutely unimpressed. Ginger was hovering over her—uncomfortably close. Het fsce was heart shaped and smooth, flushed under the generous lighting.

“Is it a natural look?” Korra asked, shifting backward.

Ginger fluttered long lashes. “Yeah, I like it that way.”

“And I suppose you expect me to shower you with compliments now?”

“I expect as much.”

Korra kept her cool gaze on the other woman, then dropped her head back onto the couch. She wasn’t interested in flirting with the red-head, and she happened to know Ginger wasn’t remotely interested in her either. She’d once seen the woman make eyes at a dress she fancied in a shop window.

The couch dipped lightly when Ginger sat down. “So, am I in trouble?”

“I haven’t decided yet," Korra said. “How much do you know about _p_ _syke_ _?_ ”

“How much do I know?” Ginger scoffed. “If any of the girls in this retched place kept their tongues in their mouths for long enough, I wouldn’t know a thing. And of course there are rumors running around, but I intend to know as little as possible.”

“Because you don’t care, or because you’re trying to keep your nose clean?”

“Hmm, both," Ginger said, absently twirling a finger on a crimson strand. “Why don’t you visit anymore?”

"I’ve been busy with work."

it’s just the way things are with work …’

“Oh? Busy hunting rumors of Lupin shifting freely and Walkers passing through walls in daylight? What’s next, winged orcs?”

“How about vampires turning into mindless killing machines?”

"Aren't they that already?"

“Strigoi are a whole other ballgame."

"Oh, please. Strigoi are merely ghost stories parents tell all misbehaving children. Legend and myth, and whatnot."

“Well, _I_ nearly had my head bitten off by your legends and myth.”

“Yet here you are, right now, very much alive.” Ginger poked at the detective's side, smiling when Korra swatted her hand away. “What’s with all the questions anyway? Why can’t we just enjoy each other’s company and not talk about dead vampires and how you need a life outside the force?”

“Because you’re making a joke of this.”

“Of course I’m making a joke of this," Ginger said. “I mean, how could I not?”

"Well this isn't a joke. The drug is very real, and if you’re still the good little halfling I think you are, you’ll want to hear what it does to people like us.”

Ginger rolled her eyes, wrapping her dressing gown more tightly around herself and curling up on the end of the chaise. “Okay. Tell me.”

Korra marveled at how a sense of vulnerability settled over the other woman. Auditors were quite powerful and extremely rare—even rarer in halflings. Not much was known about them because not many lived long, as they were drawn to insanity at an early age. _All those voices in their heads._

Korra shuddered at the thought.

Ginger had explained that she had a talisman made for her by Zaheer when he’d first learned of her powers. It stifled the magic coursing through her veins, granting her what not many could afford.

“A choice,” she told Korra. “That small bit of control. But every year I grow older and the magic stronger. So eventually the talisman will break and…”

When Korra had asked her ‘what?’, Ginger had simply shrugged, a sensual smile transforming her face. “You might want to keep a tight lid on those thoughts of yours, detective. I’d like to keep my sanity for as long as I can manage.”

Korra sat back with a start when a sharp sound cut through the air. “Hey, are you going to tell me, or just continue to stare?”

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

She told Ginger about the run-in with Mako, held back on the specifics regarding Asami Sato’s involvement, but told her about the addictive properties of the drug, placing a particular emphasis on the recent theft of a _dappo_ shipping container that left a boat crew dead.

“What’s that all about?” Ginger asked.

“Someone may be making a play.”

Ginger chortled in an unladylike manner. "For what? The Triads already have half the city under their thumb. Plus, all the territory they control is bordering on impractical.”

“Don’t be daft, Ging. _D_ _appo’s_ a key ingredient in _p_ _syke_ _,_ and is worth more than—”

Ginger held up a finger. “First, don’t call me daft. I can wiggle my finger and have you pissing your pants for a week. Second, I don’t think this is about money.”

“It’s always about money. Which is why I need to find Varrick.”

Ginger frowned. “No. I’m not jumping that boat again. Wherever he’s hiding out, I hope he stays there or I’ll ring him by the neck myself because letting him live would be the most outrageous kind of irresponsibility.”

“Maybe just have him pissing his pants, I kinda need him alive.” Ginger’s frown grew deeper. “Look,” Korra sat forward. “Varrick’s got his hand in every nasty cookie jar I can think of. So he’s our way into the Triads. They’re closest to the harbor, and if anyone’s stealing shipments, it’s them.”

“I don’t know where he is." Ginger looked away.

Korra tossed a grape into her mouth and sat back on the chaise with a grin. “Find him. I’ll just be here, lounging on your couch when you do.”

The auditor didn’t take that comment lightly. She got up and began pacing, hands-on-hips, dressing gown flapping. “You’re a little shit, you know that? How many times have I come to you, begging you to help me with Sage…”

“Nailing the Triads does help Sage.”

Ginger whirled on her. "Oh, please,” she snapped. “It’s been a year. If you really wanted to help, you would have. I’m losing my mind not knowing where my sister is.”

“It’s not that simple, Ging.”

“Then make it simple!”

Korra pinched the bridge of her nose, sighed. The headache was peeking its head. “What would you have me do? Unless you have some way of tracking a being who is incapable of being tracked, then enlighten me. Please. Because I’ve run out of ideas.”

"You said you could find her."

"I did. And I'm still trying to. But right now, there's someone else who needs my help. Someone I care about very much."

Ginger opened her mouth, closed it, started pacing again. She mumbled incoherently under her breath.

"I just need your help,” Korra said gently.

“Of course you do. I'm just a means to an end. Like everyone else.”

The detective felt a tug on the strands of her mind and her hackles rose. “ _Stay out of my head, Ginger!”_

“ _Trust me when I say that that is a mess I do not want to fall into," _> Ginger pressed fingers to her temples and drew a deep breath. “Okay. Even if I could find him, Varrick would never agree to help you.”__

“It’s just a matter of leverage."

Ginger paused. “What could you possibly have on Varrick?”

“Enough to get what I want from him.”

_“He's dangerous._ _.”_

Korra shrugged. _"He’s_ _a person like any other, driven by greed_ _and_ _pride and ego._ _He’s th_ _e one who branded me like an animal and threw me into_ _a_ _cage_ _for money_ _._ _What else is there to know?”_

“He’s dangerous,” Ginger said again.

“I can handle him." Korra rose. She suddenly felt very restless. "Now, do your thing. I’ve booked you for the entire day so you have all the time in the world.”

The auditor huffed, dropped down on a soft rug in the middle of the room and closed her eyes. She was quiet for about a moment and Korra made to rest her head on the couch. She'd barely touched leather when Ginger yelled, ‘I got him!’, a little too excitedly.

"That was quick," Korra said, surprised.

“I’ve searched for his aura many times before. I knew what I was looking and I guess it wasn’t that difficult to find.”

“And where is he exactly?”

Ginger bit her lip.

"If I say ‘please’, then will you tell me?”

Not a peep.

The detective frowned. "You want to come along don't you?”

Ginger grinned. “I’ll find something to wear," she said, disappearing into the closet.

_So much for that downtime._

While she waited for the auditor to get dressed, Korra stood. Walked to the tall glass windows that cast out onto the courtyard. Below, a dancer dressed in a gauzy white tunic, twirled on the street and the crowd chanted and clapped, entranced by her hips. She saw what everyone didn’t as the woman swayed her hips—that slight tremble from the cold. Despite it, she wasn’t allowed to stop. Not until she was told to by whoever owned her.

Ginger came out moments later clad in black sneakers, jeans, and a hoodie. She pulled on a black cap that hid her curls.

“You expecting us to stay out late?" Korra surveyed her. "Cause you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb down there.”

Ginger chuckled. “True. But in the Barc’s, blending in keeps you alive.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Where is he? He said he’d be here._

Asami checked her watch for the eighth time in three minutes. She'd been waiting an hour now. There was no sign of the man she'd come to meet. She glowered at the street and then at the world in general, glancing around to make sure no one was watching her from the shadows.

It was a clear and frosty night. All she saw were the neighborhood residents slumped tight in their corners; many sleeping, hunkered under newspaper-and-scraps blankets. Others huddled near a rusted oil drum for warmth. Asami wasn't sure, but she swore she saw a green hue to the flame. Perhaps there was copper on the bottom of the barrel, or some chemical.

Conscious of the two people watching her with unabashed interest from across the street, she took two bottles of water from her bag and strode over. She handed the bottles to each of the two elderly tucked up against the underpass for the night. Their belongings near them in shared shopping carts. Joo and Stella were regulars on this corner.

“Are you ever goin' to take down that hood o' yours, Miss Ahnah?” Joo asked. His webbed fingers fumbling to unscrew the bottle’s cap. “I'd like to see that pretty face one day.”

“Who said anything about a pretty face?” Asami said, glancing down the street. She'd never told the two her real name. For obvious reasons. 

Joo let out a laugh, raspy from a lifetime of smoking. “Must be if I ain't neve' seen it before.”

The snake-man wasn’t very colorful. He had blue-green hair and narrow eyes. His body covered in dark green scales with a few flecks of brighter blue’s and gold’s here and there. Asami noted the shiver. The cold got to him easily and Joo was always complaining about cramps in his legs, but he had a defiance in his eyes that the mechanic genuinely admired.

"Joo." Asami chided gently, crouching down to his level. “What are you doing out here this time of night? You know it’s not good for you.”

Joo waved his hand dismissively. "Nothin’ I can’t handle," the old man said, gulping at his bottle of water. “An’ don’ be telling me to go down to Greenhaven. We been there three times this week. I can’t ever get a good breath in that place an' some wise guy keeps tryin’ to nab my stuff.”

The sixty-year-old woman beside him snorted. Stella had lived on the streets of Republic City since long before Asami was born. “Don’t listen to this one, he’s full of it. But, he’s telling the truth about Greenhaven. It’s stuffier than an overgrown weed garden.”

Greenhaven was the local shelter about two blocks up from the bridge. The first time she was thrown onto the streets, Asami had watched her yuans vanish in a two-month round of cheap motels and petty swindlers. Designer clothes, five-star meals, and queen-sized beds were swapped for discarded hand-me-downs, dumpster diving, and soiled mattresses. That was when the shelter had become a home.

Asami had known Joo and Stella for three years now. Whenever the temperature dropped, you’d expect anyone to make use of the shelter, but the stubborn old bats always returned to the streets. It was bad for their health but, at times, beneficial to the mechanic. No one knew the neighborhood better than them.

She looked around again, still no sign of her contact. “You guys see anything unusual tonight?”

Stella wrapped her water bottle in plastic and tucked it in the deep pocket of the oversized coat she never seemed to be without, then pointed to her left. “Not since that crazy crackpot blew the bowling alley about three blocks that way.”

"Like the sod had nothin' better to do on a Thursday." Joo added, rubbing his hands. "Young people these days."

How's this," she said. "I’ll see about getting you some new blankets when I get back, just as long as you guys promise to use the shelter for the week.”

Joo raised his brows. “You caught a good one, didn’t you?”

“First-prize," Asami said, smiling.

_I hope._

She handed the two a couple of bags of Fire Flakes. They thanked her for the supplies and she walked back across the street to take up her earlier spot in the alley between Yin’s Deli-Grocery and Narook’s Seaweed Noodlery.

The frigid air misted every breath she made. The wound in her forearm still ached, but tonight it was a dull throb. Asami pulled up her sleeve, loosened the dressing a little, and checked the time—deciding to give him one more minute. 

“Always the early bird.”

Her head jerked up. The voice she remembered so well came from behind her.

She spun aroundd, breathed, “Dex.”

He grinned at her, teeth flashing white against his dark skin. Leaning against the brick, arms crossed over his chest.m

Asami managed to say calm, pushing away a sudden and irrational sensation of relief to see him. She hadn’t heard him approach, wouldn’t even have known he was there had he not spoken. Dex was quiet in a way few men could manage. He moved like a cat stalking its prey, and was lighter than even she on his feet.

“Lovely to see you again, Ballerina.”

She’d danced when she was younger, and Dex had filed that information away. “You’re late.”

He shrugged. “I had another appointment. You know how it is in this city, someone’s always looking for a good kick.”

She didn’t care as long as he had what she needed. “Do you have it?”

“I thought we could chat first.”

“I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“Another night then?”

“Dex.” She warned, but he only chuckled.

“I'm being friendly. Isn't that what normal people do?”

“Do you have it?"

Asami couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she sensed his disapproval. "I thought you were clean,” he said, drifting from the dark. "Thought you didn’t need it anymore.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a sad cycle of self abuse.”

For an instant, his pale, mis-colored eyes caught her dark greens, and she drew a breath, instantly riveted. Just like the first time she’d seen him. What faint light there was from the half-moon illuminated a broad torso and wide shoulders. The sleeves of his blue zip-up had been ripped out at the shoulders, and she automatically noted the tattoos running down corded muscle. But mostly she noted the unusual eyes—one blue and one brown.

His manners were charming, despite being both brash and assertive. Yet each time he smiled a little, and winked, girls followed him like catnip. They didn't know him like she did. Asami still remembered the smell of his skin in the overheated darkness of the club, his arms locked across the small of her back under the sheets in his bed.

She managed to endure their staring contest until he broke his gaze, pulled something out of his jacket pocket, and tossed it at her. It rattled in the air, and she caught it with one hand. She opened her fist and held the red pill bottle to the light.

“Same as always?”

“Same as always," he said.

Asami nodded, examining the bottle. A month ago she would’ve thought thrice before letting herself fall back into this mental crutch, but she hadn’t slept since last week's incident.

_Menacing snarl, tearing flesh, blood..._

_Stop it!_ Viciously she shoved the image away. But it would be back. A constant taunting reminder of the last week. She tried to push the thoughts away, but the more she did, the worse it felt because they pushed back harder.

Asami drew the money from her bag. Dex shook his head, pocketed his hands. “A favor. Keep the cash.”

“You’re not in the business of giving out favors.”

“Then think of it as an apology,” he said, studying her. "From one friend to another.”

“We aren’t friends.” Asami couldn't keep the malice from her voice.

Familiar or not, Dex wasn’t some giddy boy smiling and flirting to lighten her up. He was a dangerous player who was always working an angle. To say she trusted him would be stretching the point, but she could admit to herself that she’d relied on him at some point in the past. A rat scuttled by between his boots, and Asami's eyes narrowed at the grimace he hadn’t been able to control when he flinched.

“You’re hurt," she said in her most controlled voice. It was waverring.

Dex's lower lip curled in disdain as he flexed his right arm with a wince. She noted the twin bruises on his neck. They looked fresh. She resisted the urge to reach out and make sure he was okay. “Who hurt you?”

“Someone who should’ve thought better about jumping me.”

“Someone _jumped_ you?” 

His lips curved, but his eyes remained distant. “Won’t happen again, though. I’m the toughest, meanest, scariest thing on these streets."

“Don’t brag about it. It’s childish,” she said, biting back a smile.

Dex cast her an amused look. “I know, but at least I made you smile.” His haze dropped abruptly, then winged back up a moment later, troubled. "Are you okay?” he asked, the question barely audible.

Her smile dropped. Was she okay? _Hell, no._ She might never be okay again. When she didn't answer, Dex stepped forward, keeping his hands in front of him where she could see them. Asami stepped back.

He looked her in the eye. "Okay...how do you feel?”

“I feel fine.”

“You’re antsy. It’s making me nervous.”

“Nervous is good. Means—”

"—you’re not stupid." He finished for her.

The first time they'd made a supply run together, he'd told her that to calm her nerves.

He glanced up at sky and sighed. “Well. This is like old times, isn’t it?"

 _Too much like old times,_ she thought.

“Can I maybe—”

“No,” she said as a tangible wave of longing hit her. _No._ She wouldn’t do this again. He'd hurt her. Hurt others because of her. That was never what she'd wanted.

"You didn't let me finish."

"I came for the pills, not a heart-to-heart."

"I wasn't—" he groaned, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “I'm not the same guy you met two years ago. I've changed.”

She shook the bottle of _psyke_ in her hand to disregard his point.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, jaw clenching. "It's not like that," he said, his voice carrying a thread of tension.

She’d angered him with her insinuation. Well too damn bad, he was the one meeting her in the dead of night to drop off a fix.

“I don’t deal," he continued "Not anymore. But you called me up out of nowhere, and I came. Just for you. I'm at least entitled to ask how you are, so don’t make me out to be some soulless half-spawn. A part of me's still human, like you. But unlike you, I’m not numbing myself to get some sleep.”

That it hadn’t even seemed to occur to her to deny it made her want to cry. Asami clenched her fists and kept her eyse averted: Don’t _cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not in front of him._

Dex was quiet after his outburst. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or sorry. Probably both.

“I didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She looked at him. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Dex tilted his head, listening as the sound of sirens wailed not far away. He stepped back and held his hand to the shadows, a blackish mist rolling around him until only his face was left for her to see. He turned back to her, expression stark.

“Hit me up again, Sami. I’ll comethru, but not for the _psyke_.”

He left nothing but a whisper of darkness behind.

Asami blew out an exasperated breath and stepped out onto the icy curb, trying her best to shake the encounter. She popped the bottle and swallowed two pills.

_You'll feel better in a moment. Don't worry._

*

“I regret my immediate decision to tag along with you,” Ginger said grimly. “This place is disgusting.”

Claws ticked against metal and Korra's flashlight beam scoured the gravel between the tracks, glancing off plastic bags, empty bottles, and a crumpled Mcdonald’s bag before her light caught the tail end of something scurrying along the rusty tracks. Korra blew out her breath. At least it wasn’t a zombie.

It seemed to like they’d walked halfway across the city, but there was no way to tell that in these old tunnels. After a while, Korra kicked an empty soda can and cursed.

“Quiet!” Ginger hissed.

“Sorry!”

“Do you want to stop?” Ginger asked.

“No.” Korra sighed. “I just wish there was a quicker route. Why are we taking the old subway tunnels again? There are more holes than concrete in this place.”

The tunnels seemed to go everywhere, like they were thrown down at random. You could fit a small town into the damned space they were taking up because it was an endless, twisting maze down here.

“Not like it was my first choice,” Ginger said. “But Varrick's aura is like a direct B-Line through this tunnel.”

“Why? What could he possibly be doing down here?”

Ginger shrugged. “Maybe he's a zombie.”

“Don't even joke about that.” Korra shook her bead. “Or else we'll never leave this place.”

“We ignore them, they ignore us.” Ginger said, then pointed to her right. “C'mon, this next turn should lead us out of here.”

“It better,” Korra grumbled. “Because if we take one wrong turn and walk right into a nest…” ,she grimaced, “Varrick is going to be the least of our problems.”

*

Asami caught the electric bus heading north of Downtown and rode it to the turnaround at Yangchen Plaza. The mechanic loathed public transport—being in such close proximity to other people and squashed into a metal tube made her uncomfortable—but it was too far to walk this time of night.

Upon arrival, she eagerly stepped of the bus. She’d been trapped against the back-corner of it for twenty minutes. Begging for escape from a middle-aged bag lady, who, unlike the rest of the bus, found the mechanic interesting enough to spout an entire personal monologue of her life in a failed attempt at conversation.

The taunting fog made the streets look ghostly, but the city was always moving; cars, people, buses, trains.

She checked her watch.

Seven after ten.

Blackstone Tattoos was only a few blocks away—she'd memorized the address. From what she’d heard about the parlor, it was not a place any respectable person should go.

She stuck close to the shuttered storefronts, avoiding the pockets of flickering light cast by the sodium streetlamps and neon club lights as she made her way down the street.

Halfway down the block, an RCPD chopper played its light over the street corner. Asami quickly shifted into the shadows of an alley. Watched as the lights passing overhead filled the dark with pools of shifting crimson and blue. The chopper’s siren was silent, but the throb of its vector-thrust engines reverberated audibly through the cold night. She waited for the glow and flashes of emergency lights to pass before loosing a breath and slipping back out.

As she drew nearer to her destination, she thought again about what she was doing. Tried to quiet the unease rolling in her stomach.

Take a breath. The pills will kick in soon.

Asami took little risk. That was the smart way. If you are to remain undetected, you must be cautious. She had learned this long ago. But living in the shadows, in between the cracks of society without selling out to the Triads or Chimera or worse was expensive, especially if a man or woman or meta lived alone and was responsible only for his or her own.

But the last five days had been shit. As far as caution was concerned, it had thrown itself out the window that night at the bar.

As Asami approached the parlor, she saw a group of teenage boys in leather corsets exiting the tinted doors, hoods pulled up against the cold. She scanned the streets for coppers, assessed the building's exterior.

No CCTV.

No cops.

The mechanic pulled her hood down further and walked across the street before her resolve crumbled.

The two orks at the reception paid her no mind when the bell announced her presence. The one had an oval face with big fat ears, a large flat nose, a tail and muscular arms. Its skin a little moist looking with a dark, yellowish color to it. His bald friend danced around, arms raised in chanting spirit. Large silver hoop earrings clinked along.

“That’s not fair!” Yellow was saying. “How does paper beat rock?”

Baldy laughed in response. “I didn’t make the rules of the game, Tony! Take it up with someone who cares.”

Tony huffed and turned to her. His tree-trunk neck straining forward as he looked her over. “You lost, or something?” he grunted.

Baldy jabbed his friend in the side. “Oh, don’t be so rude, Tony. You need to learn to be more polite or else boss lady’s gonna give us another ear full.” 

“I’m not being rude,” Tony argued. “I think she’s broken. Look.” He pointed at her.

Baldy rolled his eyes and came from behind the counter. “Humans don’t break. They're just fragile,” he explained. The ork's rounded belly jiggled when he spoke, which briefly distracted Asami. He offered the toothiest grin she’d ever seen with discolored teeth that matched the green of his tight jeans. He was tall too, about a foot or two taller than her. “Hi, I’m Tino. Welcome to Blackstone Tattoos,” he said, politely. “We offer the best ink in the city. Can’t get better anywhere else because nowhere else is as good as here. So, what is it you need?”

“I, uh…” Asami trailed, refocusing her gaze on Toni's face. “I’m looking for—”

“A skull.” Tino interrupted.

“No.”

“Wolf?”

“No.”

“Unicorn?”

“Stop.”

“Oh, I know!” Tino snapped his fingers. "Avatar."

Asami shoved her impatience down. “I'm looking for your boss.”

Both orks frowned. Tony rose from behind the counter, placed his large hands on the top, and stared her down. “In case you haven’t noticed, we ain’t too friendly down here.”

“I noticed.”

Tony snarled through clenched teeth.

Her jaw twitched and she pursed her lips.

“Tony, let our guest past,” said a feminine voice. “Varrick has been expecting her.”

The mechanic peered around the yellow ork to see a woman with brown hair, and glasses. Dressed head to toe in a dark-blue slim fit suit, a custom holster rig built into her outfit. Asami tightened a hand around the strap of her bag. Even a blind scrapper could spot the augmented, edgy, street-dangerous allure of the wired a mile off. She glanced from the woman, whose expression was nonchalant, to the ork, who just looked annoyed and embarrassed.

The woman said, “It will please him to know you have arrived. Come.”

"Very well," said Asami.

Tony huffed at her as she passed him by. The woman led her up a staircase, opened a door, and instructed her to wait inside. Then she was left to herself.

Unsure of what to do, Asami looked over the furniture with interest. The desk in the center of the office looked antique. Rosewood, maybe. A lamp stood, unlit, beside a stack of papers on the table. There were mahogany panels dense with carvings of waves and koi fish, shelves lined with small colorful vials labeled with words she couldn’t read, and other queer knickknacks. She was fairly certain that was a Hakoda on the wall. One of those abstract oil paintings you had to angle your head to interpret.

The room had many curiosities, several treasures to examine, and smelled faintly of lavender and musky incense. Compared to the bleakness outside, the opulence felt bizarre. The carpet she stood on bore the unmistakable quality of thick wool and the craftsmanship of the weaver. She looked down at her feet, at a tapestry of intricate vines twining across burgundy. She stepped off it, onto the wood floor, and closer to the door.

Beside her stood a stuffed platypus bear. Asami stared intently at it, only having seen one in the storybooks read to her as a child. It was…BIG. Largee than child fantasy. Its head almost touched the ceiling. She was poking the bill with advent curiosity when suddenly a dark head of hair popped out of the bear's mouth, startling her.

“Woah there!” Varrick’s shrill voice greeted. “Little jumpy aren’t we?”

“Spirits,” Asami hissed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“A good one, I hope,” Varrick said as he squeezed out from behind the bear.

Asami wondered how such a portly man could fit into it.

“Amazing, isn't it?” said Varrick, patting the bear on the head. He left no room for response, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle of Scotch. He broke the seal and poured them both two-fingers. He held a glass to Asami, who shook her head.

She had never liked the taste of alcohol. Her father had, but she wouldn’t think about that now.

The fat man looked shrewdly at her and asked: “You’re a close-mouthed woman, aren't you?”

“You could say that. No I don’t want tea either."

Varrick clicked his tongue. “Tea is boring, anyway. Must be a woman after my own heart. I'll tell you now—."

“Can we get to business?” Asami took out the electroshock glove and dropped it on the broad desk. “I brought you what you ordered.”

"Better and better!" Varrick exclaimed. “I'm not a guy who plays it cute. I distrust a close-mouthed woman. But I like you. You get right down to it. We'll get along well, you and I,” he said, setting his glass on the table and picking up the glove. He examined it thoughtfully.

It was the quietest he’d been this entire time. The longer the silence went on, the more agitated the mechanic became. She sighed inwardly. She really need the pills to kick in.

“Ha!” Varrick clapped his hands with an echoing force, making her jump. “Zhu Li!”

A figure emerged beside Asami, and she barely stifled a scream.

“Where did you come from?” she said on a wavering breath. Ignoring her completely, the augment dropped a heavy duffel bag in her arms.

“One thousand yuans, cash, as requested,” Varrick said. 

Asami unzipped the bag, counted the money twice, then zipped it back up. The weight was just right. She mumbled ‘thanks’.

“Yep, I like to think I’m always there to stand up for the little guy. Especially if that little guy can help this guy become an even bigger guy.” Varrick held his arms out to prove his point. 

She didn’t understand why he had to be all flamboyant about everything; it was just a glove. Asami turned to leave.

“Before you go,” Varrick said as he slung an arm over her shoulder. “There’s something else I need your help with, and I believe my guests should arrive soon. Stay awhile.”

Asami gave him a once-over. At five-ten in bare feet, she rarely had to look up to meet a man’s eye. She had to raise her chin to meet Varrick's. The giant standing before her looked to easily weighing 300 pounds. She guessed he was about middle, dark hair thinning around the temples, face a constant flush, as though breathing were more than enough exertion.

Still, he looked the part. Impeccable in a blue, pin-striped suit. Tailored, of course. A crisp white shirt that almost shone, set off with a pink tie, the handkerchief in his pocket matching.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, shaking off his big arm.

He blocked her path when she made to leave again. “Oh, but I insist.”

“You insist?”

“Of course!

“I have other engagements.”

“No, you don’t.” Varrick decided. His charismatic blue eyes glinted. “Zhu Li, do the thing!”

The woman nodded silently, tapped the frame of the Hakoda on the wall three times, and a false wall groaned open to reveal an archway.

“Ladies first?” Varrick gestured forward.

Asami took a step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” This time she had to listen to that siren of doubt blaring in her head. Bad things happened in the dark.

“Nonsense, you’ll miss all the fun,” Varrick said. “Tino, if you wouldn’t mind.”

A large hand nudged her shoulder, and she hissed at the ork. “Don’t touch me!”

Tino stood back, hands up.

Asami could feel the pills kicking in. Every color was brighter, every noise louder, every smell more pungent, every muscle and nerve ending on high alert. 

She glanced around the room. There were no windows and Varrick stood between her and the easiest way out. If she judged his weight correctly, then a sweep of her leg would send him to the floor. More outcomes rendered in her mind. Her brain was already presenting a new solution when Varrick snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“Move or you will be moved, little girl,” he told sternly.

Her palms became sweaty.“Perhaps if I were told what this was all about, I wouldn’t feel so inclined to resist.”

“Do as told and you’ll find out soon enough," Varrick said.

Her palms became sweaty. Asami wanted to run, but something at the back of her mind held her firm where she stood. She needed to cool it. Take a breath. She’d get this over with and leave.

Simple.

_Stupid._

Hesitantly, she took a step, then another. Holding her breath as they wound down a staircase until she could no longer see the top. It was cold. So cold she could feel a draft on her face. The only noises were their footsteps and Varrick’s cheerful humming. With barely any light, Asami wondered how Zhu Li could see through the darkness. Then she remembered. There were others that could see better than her in the dark. For a while, it was just a confusing maze of twists and turns. She figured they must be in a sewer, but there was no sound of leaking pipes, no scuttle of rodents or gurgling drainage.

Perfect silence.

Even the sound of their footsteps had faded.

She made to ask, “Where are we going?”, but no sound came out. Her voice caught in her throat when she willed herself to try again. Something rippled past her. Made the hairs stand up on her neck and her forearms, and she was aware of every single one of them. They entered a tight passageway. This one felt different from the others, older. Zhu Li pushed open an iron gate and gestured for them to follow her down the offshoot tunnel. An unholy stench slammed into Asami and she pressed a sleeve to her nose. The corridor widened and brightened until, finally, the tension in her throat eased. She was glad for that. To her right and left were rooms, doors ajar. Empty. Through the oily-black walls, a grating sound reached her ears. At first, she thought it was the buzz from the heating duct, but then realized it was chanting. The noises echoed down the corridor.

Asami was so deep in thought, trying to remember which way they’d come, that she bumped into someone when they rounded a corner.

She cursed as an arm shot out and caught her just as she teetered backward. The person stood her up, and Asami was halfway to an apology when she froze. She blinked—once, twice, three times. The dark face staring at her wore an identical expression of astonishment. The mechanic had been careful to keep her hood low, but the recognition was there for the both of them.

It was Varrick who spoke first. “Korra!” He exclaimed. “Finally, you're here. And I see you brought Ginger along. When I felt her searching for me, I'd hoped you would.”

“You,” Korra said, quietly. She took a step closer to Asami, squinting as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “Why are you here?” she asked. “With him.”

“Miss…ahh—Hood, here is my guest. As are the two of you,” Varrick said, looking at the dark-clothed woman standing behind the detective. “But time is ticking and there's business to attend to. Ladies, if you will…” he gestured forward.

A hand nudged Asami forward. This time she didn’t protest. She wasn’t paying much attention to their immediate surroundings anymore—flitting wary glances at the detective.

At some point, the tunnel widened into a large, crowded room roughly the size of a high school gym.

Around her, masked men and women stood in a large circle, stamping their feet in a sort of anticipation. Torches on the walls lit the space in a medieval-esq vibe, and Asami felt as if she’d fallen into some strange nightmare. The only thing that wasn’t crude about the space was the large freestanding glass cage in the middle of the room where sand and stains of dry and damp blood crusted the floor. In front of the glass door stood a short bearded man next to a big wooden wheel marked with what looked like drawings of symbols.

Asami took in the sickly pallor of the man’s face. He had dark hollows under his eyes, pants that hung loosely over sagged muscles, and the fragile trembling build of someone who used to be strong but could now barely hold his own weight. Beside the man stood a bulky guard in a dark-blue cloak. His face framed by a mask crafted to mimic the appearance of a sour beetle.

“Spin the wheel!” the guard commanded.

The man lifted a shaky hand and gave the wheel a hard spin. It nearly toppled him. A red needle ticked along the rough wood as it spun, making a clattering noise until it came to a slow, meandering stop. Asami couldn’t quite make out the symbol, but the crowd bellowed, and the man’s shoulders drooped. The guard shoved him into the cage before shutting the door. The cage had a wavy bent, and through it, Asami could see the man pick up a flimsy-looking knife on the floor. He backed as far away as he could from another gate on the far end of the cage. The gate opened. A second later, she heard it—a roar that carried over the crowd’s fervor.

Through the darkness came the glow of two yellow eyes, like sallow lamplight. They moved with a slight sway, as if the unseen body prowled like a big cat. The man stopped. The eyes did not. Asami had never seen a creature like the one that crawled into view from the tunnel. It slithered out slowly, sinuously, its long body sliding lazily over the ground. Its thick body covered in golden-green scales, a sharp-toothed mouth-frothing a milky acid, and its bright eyes staring at the man captively.

“What is that thing?” Asami asked.

“ _Dorn Dromeintis_ —Sunsleeper,” Varrick replied. “A desert lizard known for its lethal venom.”

The lizard blinked slowly. Its silver tongue tasting the air.

“Can it see us?”

The man shakily raised his knife.

“No," said Varrick. "The glass is mirrored on the other side. Makes for quite a show.” 

The lizard blinked again.

The man lunged with his knife, but the big lizard moved so quickly the mechanic could barely track it. One moment the man was bearing down on the lizard, the next it was on the other side of the cage. Asami held her breath without realizing—heard the scraping of its claws. Bare seconds later, the lizard slammed into the man, dropping its weight with a sickening crunch. The creature was so efficient in its bite that there wasn’t even a scream, just the running of blood and a twitching form on the ground.

Blood sprayed from a jugular like red streaks of confetti. And the crowd booed.

Asami averted her eyes, unable to watch.

“Welcome to the Hell Pit." Varrick sounded proud.

The crowd continued to jeer as the guards entered the cage to remove the man's remains—what was left of him. Another group of guards prod the desert lizard with long spears. It hissed and snarled but, evidently, the monster was sated after its meal; it allowed itself to be herded back through the tunnel at no further protest.

“Why are they complaining?” Asami said, angry now. “Isn’t this what they came for?”

“They came for a fight.” Varrick shrugged. “Expected more from him.” 

“More? He could barely stand. Why would you do this? How can you just throw people in there with those things?”

“No one is forced to fight,” said the detective. “They line up for the chance to make some money, even if it costs them their lives. Besides, you should understand desperation better than anyone.”

Asami narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

The woman ignored her; turned to Varrick. “This is new. Where'd you get the lizard? Smuggling it into the city must’ve been expensive.”

“Wouldn't you like to know," Varrick said. "I needed a fresh attraction to keep the fans happy. Which warranted a few necessary changes.”

A strange, secretive look passed between the detective and Varrick, and Asami felt a cold chill run down her spine. She came to the conclusion that everyone in this damned place had a screw loose and wanted to leave. Right now. All she’d come for was her money. She had that.

Time to go.

A hand grabbed her wrist. “Not quite yet, my dear. There are still things we have to discuss. Starting with your brother.”

Varrick flashed her a devilish grin, then laughed at her expression and turned them into another room as the next fight began.


	7. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is up.
> 
> A little jump into the world Korra used to be a part of, and her relationship with Varrick. Whom I just love, btw.  
> There are fight scenes.  
> Snappy remarks.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Korra stuck her hands in her pockets and hoped her body language looked impatient.

In the lone windowed room set with a single table and chair, she stood closest to the tinted glass and the exit. Visually, the room was a mismatch; doubled down from Varrick's usual eccentricities to something more crude and dank—meant to intimidate. From her angle, Korra surveyed the fluorescent-lit box they were all currently in—her, Ginger, Varrick, Zhu Li, a mountain-sized ork, and...

Asami Sato.

Everything about the woman was black: her long coat, shoes, shirt, gloves, and hair. Except for the signature red on her lips that seemingly appealed to the heiress. She was the one person Korra never expected to cross paths with ever again. Especially here.

What was she even doing with Varrick?

The sociopathic genius who, like a lot of the rich, put much time and effort into showing off. Always walking around with his own private show like a damn performance artist; not at all someone you want to be around if you're hiding.

Sure, he’d disguised himself, but all he did was erase everyone's perception, so anyone who looked for an identifier tag on him would see a void, like trying to look into a black hole. He was there but wasn't. Effective, subtle, hidden.

"Nice costume," Korra said as her mind sorted through everything she knew about the businessman—pompous, pious...a dick. Varrick wore a perfectly cut blue suit—bright, refined, deliberately staid. But the pocket watch and ruby we're an addition of his own. The color of his hair, a thinning dark brown, was different from what Korra remembered, and his face was rounder, more delicate. His eyes, however, were alien to her. Gone was the gentle amusement, something new in its place. Something had changed.

"You like?" Varrick said as he spun around. "Newest addition. It's a little tight in the crotch area, but what can you do?"

"Get a better witch," said Ginger. "I can still tell it's you from the voice."

“Well, I had to keep at least some of me original!” He appraised.

Korra rolled her eyes. Varrick was annoying as hell, but he was also one of the smartest people she knew; which was why he'd never gotten caught.

He nodded to the ork. "Tony, have everything set up for the next fight. Make sure the boy is ready.”

Tony nodded in reply and left the room. After he did, Varrick sat and picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk. "So, Korra, you were first arrested at fifteen,” he said, scanning the file. “Twice again that year, once at sixteen for picking a fight with your tenth-grade teacher. Oh, you were then picked up when the RCPD rousted my last pit when you were seventeen, but you served no time.”

“I cleaned up,” Korra said, shrugging. “Fists can't solve all your problems.”

Varrick snorted as he continued paging through the file. “Been busy too. Top of your class at Yu Dao, a Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice, a nice shiny investigator’s license thrown in as well. You’re also the youngest Homicide detective in the city, with quite the number of baddies itching to wring your neck.”

"I really don't need a history lesson."

"Then allow me to clarify why you're here." Varrick set down the papers and pressed his fingers together. "I have a proposition for you," he said. "All three of you." 

"Okay, then let me clarify," said Korra, "I don't feel like owing you."

“Owing me?" Varrick said with a loud laugh. “I’m _hiring_ you. Don’t confuse a favor with a job.”

"I don't need a job.”

"Neither do I," said Ginger

"I don’t suppose the promise of a million yuans could change that?" Varrick nuanced

"No," the women said simultaneously.

"Each?"

Korra pursed her lips.

Ginger crossed her arms. 

Varrick just smiled at them with his perfect, bleached-white teeth. He looked like a candy-store owner offering a street kid all the free chocolate she could eat. It was a benevolent look. The longer they stayed quiet, the harder it became for him to hold that smile.

“Keep smiling,” Ginger said with a sneer. “I’ll gladly turn it inside out.”

Varrick's face dropped, and he put the smile away for a while. "Well I'm hiring you anyway. You're perfect for a problem I need fixing because, Korra, has an annoying habit of being in the right place at the wrong time. A sort of disposition that passes by many other coppers. Simply said: she’s not an idiot.” he said, sitting back in his chair. “Then there’s also the matter of my shipment.”

 _Here we go…_ “What about it?” Korra asked, cooly."

“The _dappo_ was worth nearly two hundred thousand yuans; stolen from my cargo ship last month.”

“Quite a loss.” Ginger drawled.

“It was, especially since I'd been assured that my ship was impenetrable and that getting off was just as hard as getting on. Despite all my safeguards and the most loyal staff in all of Republic city, my shipment is gone.”

“My condolences,” Ginger droned on.

“Okay, enough with the sarcasm." Varrick crooned, turning to Korra. "I know, that you know, that I know why the _dappo_ was stolen, and you're going to find it for me.”

"Why?" Korra asked.

"Simple," Varrick said slowly, "I don't like losing money, especially not to low-roller come-ups with no respect for territory."

“No, I mean 'why' us?”

Varrick shrugged. "You're here, so why not?"

Korra cocked her head. "You're kidding."

"Nopers!"

"I'm not helping you."

"But you came to me."

"Not to be your lackey. Running around the city for you is no longer my thing. Send your augment." The Gemini Predator heavy-pistol strapped to Zhu Li's side looked like it could do some damage.

"We need expendable, yet useful, assets," said Varrick. "That's where you three come in."

"I'll arrest you the minute we step out of here,” Korra said. “This place could run up a rap sheet longer than my arm, and you're trying to bribe a cop. I could have your ass in a jail cell before sunrise."

“But," Varrick paused for effect, "this place doesn't exist. I'm sure you noticed the cloak after entering the western tunnels. Your little bestie is the only reason you didn’t walk into a nest.”

“When you say we, who exactly are you talking about?” Ginger queried.

Varrick winced, he clearly hadn't meant to let that slip. "The recent influx of tainted _psyke_ batches are becoming a problem for a client of mine. Sniffing coppers and dying meta's are bad for business.

"Since when do you push product?" Korra questioned.

"Since never, our business is more lucrative and slightly less illegal."

"Nothing is slightly less illegal. Not with you," Ginger said, stepping forward. Korra saw that she looked irritated but seemed to hold it together. She wondered what went on in the auditors. "You lead us here."

"Exactly," said Korra. "So what's this really about?"

Varrick drummed his fat-fingers on the desk, eyeing them impassively. "Word on the street is that a woman named Doctor Sheng is running a _psyke_ lab near the harbor. I need you to find her and the person who stole my shipment.”

"What about P'Li Zader?" Korra tested. "She’s a friend of yours. Hunter extraordinaire, if I remember correctly."

"I’m sure you do," Varrick said, scratching his neck "I haven’t heard from her, or any of my other hunters, for that matter. Everyone just went...poof."

"Well Zader's dead," Ginger said, casually. Korra glared at the auditor, who simply ignored her. “Probably cut down by the Triple Threat’s.”

Varrick was indifferent. "I can assume it's common knowledge. On the streets, the only thing that travels faster than news of failure is the bullet with your name on it."

"How poetic—and unlike you," Ginger said

Varrick shrugged again. "People change." 

Korra tried not to laugh. "Okay, I give, what's the punchline?"

The drumming paused. "No punchline. No joke," said Varrick. "But there is something I'd like to show you that'll answer a few questions."

Korra bent forward on the desk, staring the businessman down. "We've already refused, so if we can—"

"I didn't," Sato interjected. Her voice drew Varrick and Korra's startled attention. "I didn't refuse. And I don't appreciate being spoken for," she said looking at Korra.

_Now you talk? Seriously?_

Varrick glanced between the two. "I take it you know each other?"

"No," both women replied tightly.

Ginger wasn't so slow. _"Even I can sense a vibe."_

Korra shot her another glare. _"Why aren't you snooping?"_

_"I am."_

_"In Varrick's mind."_

_"I can't. He's locked me out."_

_"Locked you out?"_

_"That's what I just said."_

_"How?"_

_"Why do you ask him?"_

"Ladies," Varrick interrupted. They both looked at him. "It's rude to have a telepathic conversation with guests around. I do hope you're considering the offer."

“You—” Korra began, but the door opened and the ork entered. 

“He’s up, boss."

Varrick swiveled in his chair and clapped his hands. "It's showtime! Zhu Li, do the other thing!"

The 'other thing' was a two-way-mirror that revealed the Pit floor when the augment flipped a switch on the wall. Sound filtered into the room like a messy thunderstorm. Korra reached out and tapped one finger silently against the glass window—the mirror now a clear view of the Pit room.

"Same as the cage," said Varrick. "At least an eight-degree refraction, vibration dampening, and I bet it could stop a twelve-millimeter slug."

"Fourteen," said Sato. "At least."

Korra eyed the mechanic speculatively and looked back through the glass. Down below, the torches dimmed in an ominous fashion; lit up again with a fiery blaze. Korra took one look at the teeming crowd around the main Pit and knew exactly who was causing them to cheer. A figure in a green cloak had materialized from thin air in the middle of the cage, smoke bellowing at his feet.

Kora felt her stomach turn over, but feigned disinterest as best she could and said, "Dramatic."

Varrick chuckled. "You haven't seen nothing yet."

The figure rose slowly from the ground and pulled off his hood.

"Meet my new champion!" Varrick exclaimed.

It was Bolin.

More muscular, paler—as pale as a corpse—with a half-wild gleam in his eyes, a stranger's eyes. Korra felt a cold chill run down her spine. The boy who glared at the glass was not the same one she'd talked to just days ago. His green eyes didn't smile; they were colder than Varrick's.

Bolin rolled his shoulders and nodded. The guards spun the wheel.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Fog-breather. Night-elf. Troll. Human.

The wheel ticked merrily along, then slowed and finally stopped. Korra's chest froze when she saw where the needle was pointing. No. No. No. _Just...no._

"It could've been worse," said Varrick. "Could've landed on the lizard again."

Korra must have heard him incorrectly. Because there was no possible way Varrick could be that brash, that much of an ass and insane and idealistic and...punchable.

"Korra, wait!" Ginger reacted too slowly.

Korra leapt over the desk in the blink of an eye and dragged Varrick from his chair. The fine fabric of his collar bunched as she pressed him to the window. Hard. The rush of blood to her brain made her dizzy. Zhu Li and the ork were now facing them, both with guns drawn. Varrick held up a hand and they paused. Korra could feel the businessman's heart pounding beneath the wool of his suit.

“I see you've still got that temper,” Varrick said.

Korra gave him a little jostle. "What the hell is this? Tell me why you have him or I'll burn right through you to the bone."

"Korra just calm—"

"Don't touch me, Ging," she snarled; shook Varrick again. "Explain."

“Let me go and I will.”

“You can do it right where you are.”

"Just loosen—"

"Explain!"

Varrick huffed a short, shaky breath. “What you’re seeing are the effects of _psyke_.”

Korra’s grip tightened. "Are you crazy? It'll kill him."

"I assure you it won't," Varrick grunted. "Watch."

The howling and stomping grew louder, but Bolin stood silent and unmoving as three guards led a pair of shackled half-zombies through the middle of the crowd towards the cage.

Bolin widened his stance.

The guards unbolted the shackles; the chains dropped onto the floor, and as soon as the door shut the zombies charged—snarling and snapping, tumbling over one another to get to Bolin.

At the last second, he dropped into a crouch, knocking the first zombie into the dirt, then rolling right to pick up the bloodied knife the previous combatant had left in the sand. He sprang to his feet, blade held out before him and circled the second zombie. Korra could sense his reluctance. Bolin was fifty feet away, at least, but she still saw his back and shoulders trembling. The second zombie crashed against him and he rolled, taking the undead with him. He lodged the knife into its belly, a high shriek was its reply. The zombie snapped its jaws, and Bolin caught them before they inched his face. He wrenched them apart, the muscles of his arms flexing, his face grim. There was a sickening crack. Bolin knelt over the zombie, its jaw broken as it lay on the ground twitching. He grabbed it by the head and smashed the skull into the glass. Twice. It went still.

Panting, he lifted his bloodied arms to the surrounding crowd.

The answering roar shook the window.

But before he could react he was sent sailing across the cage and hit the wall. The first zombie had recovered, it was now gunning for him. As Bolin stumbled, he nearly fell over and it cost him precious time. _Move, Bo,_ Korra thought desperately. He got to his feet, but his movements were slow, weary. His opponents were Runners. Fast infected zombies that quickly gain ground on prey and bring them down, attacking them in a frenzied manner. Since they don't tire at all, the only way to stop them from running is to disable or completely sever their legs.

The first zombie lunged. Bolin dove left. His right shot out, catching the undead in the side. He tracked back for breath as the Runner lunged again, this time the zombie was on him, sinking its teeth into his shoulder. He grunted and hit the ground. For a moment, Korra thought he might simply give in and let the zombie take his life. Then he pushed up from the ground, disappeared in a cloud of smoke and reappeared behind the Runner. His hands closed over the zombie's head and pulled, the veins in his neck cording from the strain.

The zombie's legs scrabbled as he lifted it off the ground. A high screech rose from its chest and Bolin yelled. Snap. And then it was over. The creature’s body went still. Blood spouting from where it's head should've been as it fell to the sand. Bolin threw the head aside and dropped to his knees.

Tears streaked the dirt on his face. Champion or not, right now he looked like a frightened kid to Korra. Varrick's brand etched on his lower back below light bruising and fresh scars. He kept his eyes closed, face covered in black liquid as the guards entered the cage and hauled him to his feet. Raising his fists in victory. Bolin pulled back and pushed the men away. 

The guards took hold of him again, but he looked too tired to fight. He let the take him. As the guards led Bolin away, the crowd chanted it's disapproval, clamoring, “More! More!”

Korra grit her teeth. _More?_ The man in her arms released a tiny squeak. In her anger, she had accidentally tightened her grip. She had half a mind to put a bullet in him too.

 _"Korra."_ Ginger reached out and grabbed her wrist. _"Calm down,"_ she said, slowing Korra's breathing; forced her pulse lower, trying to calm her, but she could do nothing to mute the riot in Korra's head.

_"Don't force my hand."_

Korra felt her pulse jump. Every nerve in her body wanted to hurt Varrick. She fought down that urge, and let go. Backed up a few paces. She settled for glowering at the businessman. There was no point in picking a fight with Varrick. Not now. She could always do it later.

But she clenched her fists for good measure. "Where did they take Bolin?"

Varrick put distance between himself and an angry Korra. "Medic room to check his wounds; maybe sleep them off."

"How long have you had him?"

"About two months, now," Varrick said, trying to set his suit right. "The crowd loved him so much the first night that I had to have him. He's quite the fighter. Strong, a little naive, but you saw what he did with the drug in his system. Ripped his opponents apart."

"Barely," said Sato. Korra had completely forgotten the woman was there as she unfolded herself from her dark corner. "He was lagging on his weaker left. Looked about ready to pass out. Walkers manipulate matter at its most fundamental level, but only in the dark with a conscious knowledge of where they're going. What that kid did shouldn't have been possible."

"Yes," Varrick agreed, "but under the influence of _psyke_ , those manipulations become faster and far more precise. In theory, _dappo_ is just a stimulant much like _anfetamin._ Added with _psyke_ it seems to sharpen and hone a meta's senses. Alter their biology with extraordinary speed and efficiency. Things that simply shouldn't be possible suddenly are.”

“Like appearing out of thin air." Korra grimaced. “What does it do to humans?”

Varrick seemed to bristle at the question. "The powder is lethal even in the lowest of doses. Death occurs within seconds. I _could_ offer you a demonstration.”

Korra pursed her lips. Bolin was demonstration enough. "The _psyke,_ Bolin—talk, or I'll jump you _again_."

"I won't stop her this time," said Ginger.

Varrick stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath. “A month ago, my boys brought me a _psyke_ sample and we fed it to three meta's. The zombies, a demon, and Bolin three days prior...

...You know what I like most about zombies?" Korra stared at him and he frowned. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. Do you know what I like most about zombies?”

"No," she answered dryly. 

"They're not very particular. You point them in a direction and they...well, go. They were my favorite test subject. The drug does nasty things to fledgling demons, but halflings..." Varrick's blue eyes glinted. "Well, they react in such colorful ways."

"Happy volunteers?"

"The kid was. Bolin willingly agreed to my little experiment in exchange for me finding his brother."

"He isn't a toy you get to throw around," she said, feeling a jolt of fresh rage.

Varrick smirked. "I'm a man who deals in trade, Korra—a businessman. So don't take it the wrong way."

"This Doctor Sheng person," Sato went on, "is she the one who developed the drug?"

Varrick shook his head. "I believe she's the one who altered it. I don't know who developed it."

Korra snorted. "I thought you knew everything."

"Zhu Li, tell Korra not to insult me."

"Mr. Blackstone says not to—" 

"I'm not deaf, cyberhead."

Varick chuckled at that as he opened the door and stepped back out onto the balcony.

Groans. Cheers. Jeers. Shock. It all rolled out of the crowd like thunder in the heat of the next fight. Nothing got the blood pumping like a bit of bloodshed.

Varrick's grin grew, pleasure rolling off him in smug waves. "Sheng's name never cross-checked in the database, and Zhu Li kept a careful watch for it. The only connection popped up was that she was a scientist stationed at Future Industries Tech before her husband died of Pulse. She disappeared two years after that."

"Who says she's not dead?" asked Ginger.

"Hmm, I don’t. Which is why if you do this job—", he said as he pointed to each woman, "—you'll have enough money to stay hidden forever, you can pay your debt to Zaheer, and I'll have my little black book delivered to Tenzin personally."

"And what if I want Bolin as well?" Korra said.

"No."

"Yes."

"I don't—"

“It's a simple trade—Bolin and a ticket into the Triads, for your shipment. It's that or no deal.”

Varrick looked annoyed. “You’re just gonna walk if I don’t agree?”

Korra shrugged, unwilling to give an answer. For a moment, Varrick said nothing. He was weighing the options in his head. If his conclusion didn't benefit him in some way, then he'd refuse. Korra wasn't about to beg, but she would gladly force his hand. If only to move this along faster.

The hesitation stretched on until Varrick finally shook his head and looked her dead in the eye. "Let's be clear about something, this is the principal, and I'm in charge. You don’t tell me what to do."

Korra took a step closer, her voice low and dangerous when she spoke again.. "Give me what I want, and I might forget what I saw that night. I know what you did, and as long as I'm still alive, you've got a big fat target on your back. So don't play coy with me."

“I’m fairly certain you’re threatening me,” Varrick said mildly. “What do you think I should do about that?”

“Give me the kid.”

“I’m not stupid, Korra, you’re a cop with a hero complex. You’ll cross me.”

"What d'you want, my word?”

“Your word—”

"Sir—" Zhu Li interrupted. She whispered a few words in Varrick's ear and his expression darkened a fraction of a second before he nodded, and hid it behind a smile.

"Can't never get a break when you're the boss,” he said smacking her on the back with his big, fat hand.

"Touch me again and I'll turn you to ash."

Varrick’s smile slipped. “Easy! I like this suit, and if you start messing with my vital organs, you'll never see sunshine again.” He beckoned her closer, lowering his voice, “and as far as you're concerned, that ‘ _night’_ never happened. Good?—Great!—Tony!”

Varrick instructed the ork to watch them, said he'd return shortly, then hurriedly excused himself down the stairs.

That had been thirty minutes ago.

"So," Ginger started, elbowing her, "That went well."

Korra didn't reply. She watched the crop of people screaming and shouting enthusiastically, balkers walking the aisles taking bets for the ongoing fight.

The Pit was a magnet for the sprawl of humans, metas and techno-criminal subculture. Nobody was the center of Pit fighting except the two fighters in the cage. They traded slur for slur, insult for insult, slug for slug. Over the chants and grunts and thumping of feet, you forget about losing a tooth or maybe an eye; if you're unlucky. It was hardly ever a fair fight, more for the crowd's entertainment than your safety. You strike, wound, draw blood to win—next. If you followed that continuous cycle...you become addicted. There was something primal about competition. It was more than just winning.

"This is fun," Ginger went on, "we should do this more often. I just love watching two men pummel each other to a pulp in a glass container."

"Mmm-hmm," Korra hummed noncommittally. This seemed unlikely. Ginger was a princess who preferred the finer things in life. The was a little surprised that the auditor volunteered to come along, and even more surprised Ginger hadn't jumped Varrick herself before she did. Wouldn't that have been a show?

"I for one feel," Ginger went on, "that you could've handled Varrick better. No?"

Korra didn't answer; she knew Varrick wasn't going to take the deal, he'd sooner choke on his own necktie than give up a prized possession. Her attention was on the two guards who stood nearest the door of the cage. One of them was blond and lean, the other dark-haired and buff. There was something about the way the blonde one moved that reminded the detective of something…

She could see it in the way he twitched, his careful watchfulness of the crowd, the inhuman grace of his movements. She'd have to be wary of him. The other guy was heavy-set, slow, snarled at people when bumped into. Wolf.

Korra yelped when she felt a slight pinch in her side.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Ginger hissed.

Korra pointed across the room. “Do you see those two guys over there? By the cage?”

Ginger squinted, then nodded. "Yeah."

"I have to go get, Bolin. Drop the lumpy-lupin if I'm not back in ten minutes."

"What?" The auditor looked alarmed. "That's insane!"

"That's a distraction. Just knock him out, easy. You used to do it to me all the time."

"Nothing about that was easy," Ginger huffed and cast a glance at the ork guarding them. "What about him?"

"It's nap time."

Ginger nodded, and Korra sauntered over to the ork. Up close his skin looked all soggy; she could smell his acrid cologne.

The ork stared down at her with suspicion in his eye. "What do you want?” he growled.

“I had a question,” Korra said with a broad grin. Behind the ork, she peeked Ginger sneaking close and lifting her hands. “About your mother and whether the rumors are true.”

The ork stepped forward, lifting his gun. “What did you say? I—” His eyelids drooped. “You don’t—”

Ginger stepped sideways and the ork toppled forward. Korra grabbed him before he could fall and set him down gently. She glanced left and right to where there were other guards standing in the doorways, distracted. They took little notice, eyes focused on the fighting below, but all one needed to do was turn his head and notice something was off. 

“Never can make it easy, can you?” Ginger murmured. “Couldn’t you have just asked him the time or something?”

Korra patted the ork down and grabbed his piece. "Be careful with the shifter. It's pretty far, so don't get the wrong guy."

"I know what I'm doing," Ginger said sharply. 

"Not the point."

Korra slipped down the staircase, wriggling through the crowd toward the exit the guards and Bolin had entered earlier. She followed the dimly lit corridor until not long after heels clicked quietly close behind. 

She slowed pace until the other woman had caught up. "Lost?"

"Where are you going?" Sato asked.

"To get a friend."

"I don't suppose you know your way out of this place?"

"That would be Ginger.”

They strode quickly and quietly down the hall, but Sato kept pace, her face buried in her hood. The hallway went on and on until they rounded a corner between two archways and were in the cover of deep shadow. Korra drew her flashlight with one hand, holding the gun in the other as she swept the beam over cobwebs and wiring. She wondered who the hell even built this place; you'd need a map to get around. Surely Varrick had better places to hide his dark dealings. At best, he could’ve bought out an arena in The Fire Nation, where Pit fighting was legal.

She cast a glance at the heiress, considering her for a moment. Korra couldn't figure out for the life of her why she was hired to find the woman. Varrick seemed to know who she was, and again she had a hundred questions. But per usual, the answers took their time falling into place. . You don't miss someone as striking as Asami Sato on the streets.

Maybe it was just a coincidence...

"How d'you get here?" Korra asked, voice low.

A brief moment passed; the question was left hanging. You drop a guy in ‘the chair’ and he spills his life story, with Sato you had to coax her like a newborn. Korra didn’t much care if the woman wouldn’t answer. Peeking past another set of empty rooms, she glimpsed a pair of yellow eyes glaring from behind the bars of a crude iron door.

_Nope._

"Turns out Varrick was my buyer," Sato said. "Led me down here, but I don't know why. Guess to hire me, same as you." A pause. "You used to work for him?"

"For a while," Korra replied. When she was young, stupid and couldn't help but get herself into trouble.

"So, you're old friends."

Korra snorted. “It’s hard to be friends without trust.”

“Well Varrick did say he trusted you.”

“Yeah, well, Varrick said a lot of things. Are you seriously considering taking the job?" 

"Aren't you?"

"You have a habit of answering my questions with more questions," Korra said flatly. "It's a little annoying."

So much so that her head throbbed slightly with the beginnings of a headache. _I need a glass of the darkest, bitterest whiskey I can find,_ she thought. _Or maybe a real punch to the jaw._

They paused at a passageway. Korra contemplating which route to take. _Left, or right?_

"If you're looking for the medic room, it's down that—" Korra quickly pivoted and pulled the other woman into an empty room, flattened her against a wall. "What are you—" 

"Shhh," was all Korrasaid as she covered Asami's mouth.

An inhalation of breath. Momentary quiet. Then, footsteps thudded by, followed by raspy conversation.

"Son of a bitch," a guard said.

"What?" The second guard asked.

"That Walker kid bit me."

"You shouldn't have punched him," his partner said. "Guy gives me the creeps. Blackstone doesn't pay us enough to babysit."

"You're babysitting," said the first guard, "My shift ends in an hour."

"We have shifts?"

The first guard laughed. "You won't last a day, newbie."

After the voices carried down the hall and faded out entirely, Korra loosed a breath and turned to Sato. Her breath sort of caught and her brows knitted when she looked back at the vine green eyes that held an intense gaze.

For a half-second, they stood staring at each other; an element of searching on both sides. Asami was clearly deliberating something when Korra felt the shiver.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"W-what?."

Korra felt another shiver and dropped her arms before stepping back, giving the heiress some space. "What were you saying about the medic room?"

Suddenly all business, Sato squared her shoulders, and cleared her throat. "It's down the hall to the right."

"You sure?"

A curt nod.

Korra narrowed her eyes but reserved to check the hallway. Waited. A sweep of her light revealed no one else. They slipped out. Took a left down the hall and stopped outside a bleach-tiled room spilling light.

The makeshift medical bay was well lit, in stark contrast to the darkness of the halls, fluorescent lights hanging from the low ceiling. It had a bed, metal drawers, a tray littered with medical equipment, and a defibrillator that sat in a case on the far wall. There was a man seated in front of them with brown hair and a white doctor's uniform. He held a bottle of antiseptic in one hand, a dab of bloody cotton in the other, and she saw two buckets placed near the table with a bloody cloth peeking over the rim.

Korra looked at the boy who lay on the table, wrappings over his shoulder. Her heart sunk at the sight.

The medic eyed them dispassionately as he rose from his seat. "Who are you? You're not—" he began, but Korra smacked the barrel of the pistol off the top of the medic's head, caught the man before he fell and lowered him to the floor.

"Was that necessary?" Sato hissed.

"He'll be fine. Maybe a little sore when he wakes up."

Setting the gun down, Korra moved over to Bolin, who lay on his back. She could see his face was starting to swell, cuts and bruises over his knuckles. He was barely breathing. Pressing her fingers to his throat, she checked his pulse. Light, but all she needed.

Korra gently tapped the sleeping boy on the cheek. "Hey, Bo, wake up." Nothing. She tapped him again to stir a reaction. "Bo..."

“Can I have waffles?” Bolin mumbled.

"Look," Sato said, pointing at an IV. "Morphine. He's under. Won't be up for a while."

Korra sighed, noted Bolin's size. He was huge—even bigger up close compared to days ago. Whatever Varrick did worked like a charm. But she needed him mobile. 

"Alright. Then we improvise," she said as she pulled out the IV, and lifted the boy with some difficulty. She shook off her jacket and wrapped it around Bolin's bare torso. "You're gonna have to help me carry him."

"And take him where?"

"Fire Ferret Medical."

"You're joking."

Korra paused.She had to admit that was easier said, than done. They had to get Bolin through Varrick's personal army, out the tunnels passed the nests, to Kya all the way across the city.

"I don't like the look on your face," Sato said. "Can you just stop and think?"

"No. I can't leave him here, and the longer we argue, the less time we have. So help me or leave."

The mechanic stared at her.

 _Please choose the former_. There was no way Korra could carry Bolin out alone. Varrick could return at any moment and find them gone and she didn't feel comfortable leaving Ginger alone in this place. _Come on._ _Come on._ There was such a long moment of deliberation from the other woman that Korra—

"Fine." Sato hooked Bolin's right arm over her shoulder and helped Korra lift him off the bed. "But what about the guards? They're not going to let us waltz out of here."

"Ginger's handling that," she said as they entered the corridor.

"What do you mean handling?"

"Just trust me, Sato. It'll be fine."

"I wouldn't even trust you to tie my shoes, Waters."

"Your shoes don't have laces," Korra murmured. And then the shouts started.

No, not shouts. Screams.

Panicked screams.

The passageway back to the Pit room was absolute chaos. Costumed men and women ran around, screaming and pushing each other, falling over in every-which-way. Korra gripped Bolin harder, people knocking against them as they fought through the throng. Eventually they wended past the dense frenzy.

If the passage had been chaos, then the Pit room was a special kind of madness. Guards had their guns out, and Korra could hear shots being fired—someone had landed on the Sunsleeper again. 

_What the hell did Ginger do?_

Korra glimpsed a flurry of red on the balcony cutting past guards with comical ease. She watched as the auditor duck under an arm, quick as an eel, before she gripped the railing and slid down. Gingee jogged towards them after hitting the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, that was fun," she said, grinning.

Korra scowled. "I told you not to get the wrong guy. What the hell did you do?"

"Nothing!" Ginger argued. "And this is your fault. You could've told me the guard was possessed."

"Possessed?!"

A chair flew overhead and slammed into the wall behind them. A table followed soon after and would've slammed into them had Korra not yelled _"Duck!"_ before they all dropped to the ground.

Ginger yelled, "Ghost!"

Korra looked around, much in disbelief as in panic because she'd never seen anything like it. The room was going nuts. It was like being in the middle of a whirring blender. Ghosts find it difficult to move even tiny things, like a pencil or a paperclip. They don't rip metal railings from the ground or toss people around like potato sacks. 

Which narrowed things down to the _'Oh, shit',_ list.

 _This isn't a ghost._ "Where's the guard?"

"There!" Ginger pointed.

Korra spotted the same blonde guy with the beetle mask in the middle of the room. She turned to Ginger, "I'll deal with the lizard and the psycho trying to kill everyone. You get Bolin out."

"But the tunnels—”

"I remember my way out."

A moments hesitation glinted in the auditors eyes. Korra gave Ginger's hand a light squeeze, and after a moment, Ginger squeezed back. "I'll meet you near the edge of the tunnel." She looked at Sato. "Help them?"

A nod.

"Thanks. Now, go!" Korra said, hassling them away. 

Ginger cast her a tentative look, then did as told and helped Sato carry Bolin out.

Next, she turned her attention to the guard with the beetle mask. He was stocky and reached over her shoulder. She could knock him over without trouble. She'd taken more and better down in unfair fights before. She got this.

_I got this._

Korra took a deep breath, ran and threw her weight at the man. He stepped aside as if he'd known she was coming, languidly hooking his heel behind her ankle.

_Crap._

Korra let out a loud grunt as she landed hard on the stones. Behind her was a satisfied caw of laughter. _Ass_. She flipped over. At that moment the lizard came pounding toward her, it's fat tail lashing side-to-side, mouth-frothing white. On impulse, she reached for the gun—absent, of course.

_Double crap._

The reptile made to drop it's weight when she rolled out of the way and to her feet. She vaulted over its back and wedged her hands beneath vulnerable the belly of the lizard. Heat surged from her fingers and melted into its skin. The lizard groaned and collapsed on its side.

She patted it on the head. "Sorry about that.

A tingling buzz vibrated from the phone in her pocket and Korra jumped. She just had time to wonder how in Raava's name she had signal all the way down here when she looked up and the demon flung himself on her.

They fell to the ground and rolled together, the demon tearing at her with hands that glittered as if tipped with metal. He rolled and pinned her to the ground. His hands seizing her arms and trapping them to her side as his claws dug into the flesh. Korra grit her teeth and a headbutt had the demon reeling backward. She grabbed his wrists and twisted sharply. Then her left elbow connected with his jaw and she flipped him up and over her shoulder; dislocating his shoulder.

The demon screeched and arched off the floor, gurgling and twisting in infuriated agony. Korra was immediately surrounded by a storm of dark, flapping wings and a noxious odor that made her gag. She thought the whole package was a little pathetic. In her experience, anyone who worked so hard to look intimidating was overcompensating. She looked down at the twitching form at her feet, hissing between his teeth as he jerked.

"Not at all sorry about this," she said and plunged a piece of splintered wood into the black-shirted chest.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crepitus - Sometimes moving your shoulder can trigger a clicking sound or a popping sensation near where the joint connects at the top of your arm. That popping feeling is called crepitus. In some cases, there's a sharp pain or warmth that comes along with a cracking, grinding, or popping shoulder.
> 
> Early. Short. Quick. Mellow (sort of). Asami's POV
> 
> Enjoy!

_Fear. Panic. Anger. Pick one_ , a voice in her head said, sounding strangely familiar.

Asami had no time to decide which of the three fires burned brighter. Fear was the more infectious of the trio. In this case, it clouded rational judgment in the heat of escape. 

Escape. That was one word for it. To get away she had to lug a two-hundred-pound Walker through dark, narrow tunnels, her hands gripping tightly to the boy, ber tool bag banging against her hip. Asami felt the thrum of her heart beating against her chest like it would crack a rib.

Within minutes all sound faded. The passage wound deeper and deeper. They were going upward. If Asami had been more analytical she might have calculated the approximate turns they had taken, but she knew things were bad when she tried doing Math with curry in her head. They could have been walking in circles for all she knew. Tracking time in a dark space evidently became more difficult once you couldn't feel your own breath.

An electric current crept up her left forearm, while her thoughts raced at a frantic pace, bombarding her with questions and grim images of what the next hour might hold. Her entire left side felt as if she had been burned by fire. Asami knew what it was: a warning sign. 

She forced herself to be calm. She couldn't go to pieces now; she had to keep herself in check. A loss of composure came at a free-fall of panic. A free-fall of panic came at a loss of rational thought. 

Perhaps the anger of losing her duffel bag in the panic of one of the shittiest weeks of her life could balance the anxiety. She’d had plenty of practice in shutting out her surroundings and her fears.

When light finally cut through the darkness—flashlight—and the tension sank. Asami drew in a breath that tackled her eardrums. A sharp tang of bitterness in the back of her throat as they crept slowly through the dim silence, turned right into a smaller passage then right again.

After her eyes adjusted to the near darkness, Asami could make out concrete walls, pipes, electrical wiring, and track lines. The tunnel itself was like a cavern—huge, with tracks pitching left-to-right into a darkness that looked like eternity. A perfect place for goblins and critters and what-all to be lurking. The walls were covered in sticky patches of dark, green lichen eating the walls, looking like old, vomit stains and she wondered how many people had been down here over the years. Not many, she guesssed. There were only the occasional rats and spider-roaches nesting under trash.

“Where are we?” Asami asked quietly.

“The abandoned western tunnels,” replied the dark-clothed woman. “Zombieland.”

“Oh.” The small reply Asami had managed hinted nervousness. 

A draft of air tickled her nose. The smell that came with it like the breath of the undead. Cold fear poured through her veins at the thought of the creatures waiting for them to take a wrong turn. For whatever reason they were left to roam the underground, even the smallest noise could stir trouble. 

Asami just moved forward, feeling her back and lower legs burn from the weight on her shoulders. Ears straining to catch a whiff of noise, eyes useless against the demons of the dark. And then, through the rank of urine and the stink of waste, Asami smelled the clean tang of saltwater. The relative silence of the tunnel funnel into the faint acoustic ambiance of the streets. Up a staircase with rusted steel rails, her tunnel vision receded to a night sky clear and frosty, like a black ocean.

She realized where they were: West of the Barcs, near the harbor, where blood set like cement, bulbs sat red in the streetlamps, and cops rarely ventured. Triple Threat territory. They walked along the side of the tunnel entrance, stopped and lowered the boy. Hiis body dropped down heavily to the ground. Hands now free, Asami rubbed her left forearm. The fingers of her hand were starting to tingle.

 _Pills, not powder,_ she reminded herself firmly.

What Dex had given her reacted in the same old way: slower heart rate and an increased sensitivity to her environment. She felt fine, physically. Mentally, the stimulant felt like a buzz. That familiar buzz drowning all else but her senses. Obviously the use of the _psyke_ was draining, but she wasn't dead yet.

Pills not powder.

What time was it? Asami didn't want to stick around to find out. Right when she started to consider leaving, the dark-clothed woman poked at the boy's side; he mewled.

"Careful!" Asami warned. "You'll only make it worse."

The woman stopped and looked at her. "Are you a doctor?"

"Are you?" Asami crouchedbeside the boy.

A wetness seeped through the knees of her jeans, but the heat radiating from the Walker's skin worried her. Bolin, the detective had called him. He looked pale and shaky, cold, half-dried blood and bits of dirt clinging to him. Asami lay her hand on Bolin's forehead, touched his cheek. If the kid got any warmer he’d singe her skin, or worse. She moved the jacket aside, looked at his shoulder. His muscles flexed, a movement she felt because her fingers were tracking the sides of his chest and neck. She rubbed around his ribs, and he groaned—two were broken, his shoulder out of place.

"I have to set his shoulder back. Could you hold him up?"

The dark-clothed woman nodded and eased the boy forward. Gripping his shoulder and bicep, Asami pulled towards herself. She heard the crepitus, and Bolin let out a grunt, doubled over. Not good as new, but he was alright. She bound the arm with the jacket so the shoulder wouldn’t be jolted further, carefully sat the boy against a wall and into a more comfortable position. If only to ease his pain. She asked for the flashlight, lifted Bolin's head, and shone the light at his glazed, green pupils. No measurable response.

“Do you have a watch...?"

“Ginger,” the woman supplied as she took off her wristwatch and handed it to Asami.

She held the watch to the light: 00.19.

She felt Bolin's pulse.

Counted _1, 2, 3…_

_...105, 106, 107..._

“You think she’s okay?” Ginger asked, sounding more troubled.

"Who?" Asami asked.

“Korra," Ginger answered

_...309, 310, 311…_

...under a minute.

Asami sighed. "I don't know. Maybe."

Whether or not the detective made it out was the least of her concerns right now. If Bolin’s pulse ceased to throb at her fingertips, there was only so much CPR could manage. An hour of life kept slipping away the longer the minutes ticked on. Asami hadn’t taken care of a sick person in years and never someone who was basically still a stranger. _You have a mind, don’t you?_ she asked herself. _Well, use it!_

“Why do you call her ‘Blue-eyes’?" Ginger asked. 

Startled, Asami looked up, bemusement on her face at the interruption of her thoughts.

"Sorry for prying," Ginger said. "It just kinda slipped out. I need conversation otherwise I’m going to explode because I don't know if Korra's alive, and I know Korra has blue eyes, but why the nickname? I thought you knew each other. I mean the vibe between you two feels familiar, so you have to know each other. In Varrick's office you kept—"

"Stop.” Asami interrupted. The woman was giving her a headache; not something she needed on top of everything else as the gears turned in her head.

“Telepath?” she asked.

Ginger shook her head. “A little more advanced than that." 

Asami thought for a moment longer before the penny dropped. “Auditor."

“Bingo," Ginger said. "Although just a halfling—which is a real pain in the ass."

Asami understood, at best. She breathed into her cupped fists to warm her hands. Waited. The seconds seemed like hours as she watched Bolin wheeze and struggle for breath. 

A thought. "Can you slow you his breathing?"

"Yes," Ginger said, and knelt, lifting her hands to Bolin's head.

Asami strained her ears then smile when she heard his lungs unlock and he gasped in a breath that was too fast, too sharp. She felt the boy’s throat open up and expand to push air out and suck it back in again. His pulse slowed, and he seemed to relax. So did she.

"How long can you do that for?"

"Not long," said Ginger "Whatever's in his system is chomping down on him really quickly."

"You mean the _psyke_ ," Asami said grimly. "Varrick said it wouldn't kill him."

"Yeah, well, Varrick says a lot of things," Ginger admitted.

_"There are still things we have to discuss. Starting with your brother.”_

Asami bristled at that. In her mind's eye, she pictured the devilish grin on Varrick's face, the blue mischief in his eyes. _What did Varrick know? Why did Noa matter to him? What had he done?_

The questions teased her. She hated a puzzle she couldn’t solve. It seemed like everyone else knew more than she, even Blue-eyes, who had jabbed at her in the pit. What would the detective know of her desperation?

Asami set her jaw and gazed up. A half-moon hovered where the red blinking lights of the FIT tower glowered in the distance. An industrial-based smog softening the hard lines of the tallest building in the world. It shone like a beacon through the black expanse. It’s bulk a reminder of where she had come from…and where she was now.

After years on the streets, she could still see herself as the girl she was then, running around their mansion with dazzled eyes, dodging Noa's arms so he wouldn't sweep her up again. She'd been six and Noa sixteen when they’d first lost their mother. _Can you go back eight years and feel compassion for the girl that went off that cliff? Who lost herself to the fear and shame of that night?_

No! She wasn't going to feel sorry for herself. She was going to get answers.

"How do you know Varrick?" Asami ventured casually.

Ginger hesitated, but said, "He's...one of my lesser admonitions." She looked at Asami. "I used to work for him, if you can call it that."

"In the Pit?"

"Spirit's no. What an unimaginable thought. I've never been down there before, only Korra has."

That said, Ginger's tone had lowered considerably. She now had her eyes downcast, in a manner thay suggested she was lost in thought. More of Asami's curiosity was sparked, but she kept hee expression impassive and addressed her next question. She asked how the auditor and the detective had met.

“Korra…” Ginger paused for a moment as though to search for the right words. "Korra and I met a few years ago when she...requested my services. I'm sure you've already heard the 'I was a dumb, rebellious, and stupid kid' speech from almost everyone in the world. Varrick sort of falls into that category for Korra and I. He was the 'make quick bucks' guy you went to when you needed a loan. Sounds simple, but along with paying back his money, he also requested you to occasionally run odd jobs for him. No questions asked. Usually illegal. Often dangerous. Over time it just gets harder to pay back your debt...

...And that's exactly how he likes it. Varrick's a spider, and when dealing with him you get caught in his web of misery. When eventually you're free, you just get ensnared into another web. So, in a way, he is a link between Korra and I, but a past we'd both rather forget in the long run."

They both went quiet, listening to the radio that was the city. All lifeblood and noise.

"How do _you_ know Korra?" Ginger then asked.

Thankfully, Asami had an excuse not to answer. She heard the sound of footfalls padding towards them from the tunnel before she could answer. The person was moving fast. Really fast. She glanced at Ginger, who's shoulders had tensed.

It could only be one person. _Was it though?_ After a moment of anticipation, the detective's cursing followed all the way to the top when she tumbled through the tunnel and into Asami. Who barely had time to pick out her shadow as they crashed awkwardly to the ground.

"You remembered!" Ginger exclaimed, then winced when Bolin grunted. “Sorry—sorry. "

"I'll try not to sound insulted by that," Korra said, helping Asami up. "Sorry."

Asami shrugged off the detective's apology, but felt annoyed by the added bruising the night had brought about. That really needed to stop.

Slowly, Korra approached Bolin and held his arm, trying to get a good look at the bandage on his shoulder. Her movements were reluctant, as wary as if someone had told her to pet a rat viper. "He's still breathing." 

“With Ginger's help,” Asami said, regaining composure. “But the kid has two bruises ribs that may be hindering his breathing. Muscle spasms, hot flashes, unreactive pupils, delirium. I clocked his pulse at three-o-five a minute and rising."

Korra straightened. "He needs a hospital."

Asami nodded. "Car?"

“We don’t have a car."

“Maybe we could take a cab,” Ginger suggested. “I've been meaning to tick that off my list.”

The detective grimaced. “Why is it you find the time to joke even in a serious situation?"

“It's how I keep my sanity,” Ginger mused aloud. "I'm a ball of anxiety right now, and everyone's scrambled minds has mine feeling like Jell-O. So don't snap at me."

"I wasn't snapping," Korra defended. "I'm just saying that now is not a good time."

"You wouldn’t know a good time if it sidled up to you and stuck a lollipop in your mouth," Ginger huffed. "I want an apology."

"No," Korra said stubbornly. "You’re twenty-six, not six. That ‘take it back’ shit is stupid."

"Apologize," Ginger said again.

The two women shared a glaring glance, quiet as if having a silent conversation. Asami thought they looked like school children fighting over who could use the swing-set first.

"No, I won't," Korra then grumbled. "Because he's long gone," she went on, "You didn't have to come—I know it wasn't on purpose—Teliken's aren't exactly friendly."

Asami saw a shadow pass the detective's face. The two _were_ having a conversation. Korra in no way subtle about it. She was about to speak when a groan made everyone jump. Ginger repeatedly apologizing again.

“Okay, look," Asami said sternly, "this discussion can continue on the way to a hospital. This kid doesn’t have that much time left, and the two of you silently glaring at each other isn’t helping him."

"We weren't—” Korra began, then shook her head, "Tell me again how you found Varrick. I need to get a CSU team down to the tunnels before everything disappears."

"What're you doing?" Asami asked as the detective flicked out her phone.

"Making a call."

"To who?"

"This girl's a little slow," said Ginger.

Korra put the phone to her ear. "It doesn't matter. Right now, we don't have a car. Think of something else."

"There's no time," Asami said. "If we get a car, I can jump it, and your problem is solved.”

“That's great," Ginger drawled sarcastically. "But then another problem arises—Korra can't drive and I never have, or ever will."

 _You have got to be kidding. This is insane. They're insane._ Asami rubbed her overheated face and let a breath escape. She was low on sleep and exhausted after the excitement of the week, and now her thoughts were buzzing and jumping at the possibility of cops showing up.

When the phone rang out, Korra dialed again, turned to Asami. "Start talking. We don't have all night."

Asami blew out an exasperated breath. "Fine," she said. _Compromise_. "I'll drive, and explain in the car. Now can we get out of here? I'm freezing my ass off."

Five minutes later, the four of them found a station wagon parked behind a drug store alleyway. Asami glanced around first, making sure there was no one on the street. It was clear. She broke glass, yanked the door open and slid onto the driver's seat, efficiently cutting the alarm. A quick spark of the wiring and the engine coughed into life, struggling against the low temperature.

Bolin was deposited in the backseat along with Ginger before the detective leaned near the driver door. "Sato—"

She sat up. "Stop calling me that. I have a name." 

"Sorry—Asami." Korra corrected. "I don't feel comfortable with this. You don't have to do it."

A derisive laugh escaped the mechanic's lips. _Like I get to decide anything about my life with you around._ "Get in the car, or I'll leave without you."

Korra peered at her through the gloom and Asami caught a whiff of sweat overshadowing blood. A skeptical glance at the detective's arm had the woman following her gaze. Korra experimentally curled her bicep with a wince, blood oozed from the wound.

“Get in the car,” Asami said again, emphasizing every word. She looked Korra in the eye. "Because I actually will leave without you."

The detective shot her one look of uncertainty before the door shut after she got in; seat-belted. "Fire Ferret Medical. You need directions?"

Asami shook her head. She hadn't forgotten.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a new character in this chapter. Guess who?

Korra was pacing in the waiting room, her face pale and tense, her brown hair a tangled mane. Fists clenched. Her body quivered with fatigue, sparking the heat flowing through her veins. Sweat trickling down the small of her back. She did not function well with the over-zealous heat; it made her feel sluggish and stupid.<

"Please stop you're making my head spin," Ginger said, rubbing her temples.

"I'm trying to stay calm." Korra ran both hands through her hair, winced. They were sticky with blood; she wasn’t thinking./p>

"Seriously," said Ginger. "I will drop you like a bag of flour if you don't stop now."

The detective paused. Rather than face the assured threat of the auditor, Korra slumped into one of the chairs and rested her head on the wall. But she was too charged with adrenaline to sit still. Her heel drilling out a rapid beat. 

Ginger lay a reassuring hand on Korra's leg. “Calm down, he’s going to be fine."

“You don’t know that!” Korra burst out. A fresh swell of rage rose and she returned to her previous back-and-forth. "What if we didn't make it in time?"

Ginger's face pulled into a tight frown. “Don’t bite my head off for trying to comfort you.”

“I don’t want comfort!" Korra hissed. “What I want is to wring Varrick by the neck.”

“Your hands are too small, and his neck too thick,” Ginger drawled. "You’re also bleeding all over the floor.”

Korra looked at her arm under the glare of the ceiling lights. Several scratches covered her bicep, a few trailing down to her wrist. Most of them hadn’t broken the skin, but some had been bleeding. She should have been hurting all over, but mostly she just felt stiff in her lower back. “They’re just a few scrapes," she said. "Nothing major.”

“Even scrapes can get infected. Have them checked.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Til when?”

“Til after Bolin’s okay.” Korra paused. _If he'll be okay._ She shook the thought.

“You know your ‘never say die’ attitude is crap, right?” Ginger said, smiling a bit sadly.

“Yeah, and you have no respect for boundaries."

“I’m paid not to. What’s your excuse?”

Korra didn’t have an excuse. She breathily exhaled a long, steady breath, her shoulders sagging. The tension in her stomach was easing slowly, but not for want of trying. “I need a drink."

“I need a shower.” Ginger dug in the pocket of her jeans and coming up with a red candy. “Raspberry?”

“What am I five?”

Ginger scoffed as she popped the candy into her mouth. As if on cue, Korra's stomach growled. She shot Ginger a look, and the auditor snickered, holding her hands up in defense.

Korra rolled her shoulders to loosen them. A little pop and she sighed before sitting back down, said, “You can leave, you know. Varrick's long gone. Will be for a while.”

Ginger lifted her head from where she’d leaned it on the back of the chair. “It’s the middle of the night and colder than a meat locker out there. Where am I to go exactly?”

“Home." Korra nudged her. “Hail a cab.”

“The Red Lotus isn’t home. It’s like a rope around my neck; I can’t get my feet back on the ground...

The briefest of pauses passed, and Ginger picked at her sleeves. For someone who seemed so contained, she had a lot of nervous habits

"Anywho,” she dismissively said, “I’ve never even seen Varrick desperate before—which was a plus. He’s so spooked he’s hiding.”

“From who? The Agni Kai’s? Triple Threats? Lightning Bolt Zolt?” Korra shook her head. “To Varrick, Bolt’s a low-baller. He doesn't fear 'second-rate'."

“Then who’s running?”

“A new player. Someone with enough people to cause trouble, and has Varrick on edge."

Ginger rested her chin on a hand. “He has always been a bit overly melodramatic. It could be nothing.”

“Varrick doesn’t go around offering a million yuans for fun.”

“Money like that is more curse than gift,” said Ginger. “Especially from him.”

"That kind of money can be very compelling to the right person."

She glanced at Asami Sato through the glass of the emergency exit. Gaze low, hood concealing her face; she appeared calm. The heiress hadn’t said a word after the nurses had wheeled Bolin away in Kya’s capable hands. Now, as Korra sighed leaning up against the wall, she was sure she never wanted to see the woman ever again. Crossing paths with this would-be ghost had been the equivalent of trouble since finding the docket under her table. 

Thinking back to the laptop—it had been an info-dump. Detailed. Too detailed. Case files on top of more case files and pretty little news headlines that mulled on for weeks and months on end about the tragic accident that supposedly ended the life of the bright, young heiress’ life following her father’s arrest. With theories on the lack of body in the wreckage on Blackrok cliffs. People assumed the tides had carried her away. That she was lost to the sea. Whoever hired her took care with the information she'd been given. Why she needed it all made no sense.

There was no such thing as a bad case. Only a bad outcome if not handled properly. Tenzin had taught her that a long time ago. He had been right. She was going about this the wrong way. But the questions hung loose and disjointed, waiting for the answers to bite.

Morosely Korra stared up at the bubbled ceiling of the clinic. She knew Varrick as egotistical and excessive—never melodramatic without reason. His confidence unnerved her. Not an inkling of doubt had laced his words in the Pit, but she knew she was given only fragments of the truth. The only way to fill the gaping hole in the story was to find the doctor, the supplier, and whoever was in on this game of cat and mouse. Varrick liked his games. Korra didn’t like playing them, but that was an assurance she’d see him again. He hadn’t hesitated. He let them find him even at the expense of his cover. With the psychic link between him and Ginger severed, she’d have to find him the old fashioned way. Asking questions never hurt anyone. Depending on who it was you asked.

As she pondered that idea her cell began to buzz. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Korra lifted the phone to her ear with the other hand. “Waters.”

 **[** **Do** **I** **have to cuff you to** **a** **post keep** **to** **you from getting into trouble?]**

“Kai. You never say hello anymore.”

 **[** **Where** **are** **you?]** He asked a little too loudly. Korra could hear a low rumble of voices behind him; people talking over each other; siren’s wailing.

“Where are _you_?” she asked back.

 **[Outside Blackstone Tattoos. CSU team is sweeping the place after the fire burned** **out** **.]**

“Fire? What fire?”

Ginger sat up with sudden interest. Korra half-turned away from her, waving off the questioning glance. “What fire?”

 **[** **The fire at Blackstone Tattoos.** **I show** **up and the place is lit like the annual Forest Festival.** **It eventually burned out by itself** **before the fire department showed up. Now. it's nothing but a melted pile of clay.]**

Forty minutes ago, that’s when Korra had called. She had to commend Varrick for covering his tracks. “What did the firefighters say? Deliberate?”

 **[Until the investigation is complete they can’t say for sure** **.** **F** **rom the calls they got, t** **he fire** **burned in a controlled manner for what you would** **n’t** **expect from a building like this. T** **he f** **oreman said ther** **e** **does seem to be some evidence of an accelerant.]**

“So everything’s gone?”

**[CSU will find something—the twins never disappoint. And since its not a homicide, it’ll most likely get chucked off as an arson case to a jackass who’d rather scuff doughnuts all day. What happened tonight?]**

Korra hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

 **[** **Can’t** **or** **won’t** **?]**

“Same difference.”

She heard him sigh. **[If** **you’re** **withholding evidence** **that might help with** **the case** **—** **]**

“I’m not,” she said glancing at Asami. “I’m not.”

**[Are you reassuring me, or yourself?]**

“Does it matter?” Korra snapped.

Static silence filtered through the line.

**[You’re very touchy.]**

“I’m not touchy.”

**[Probably because of all your skulking around.]**

“I’m not skulking around.”

**[You’re hiding things from me again, and that really pisses me off. Can you not deal it straight for two seconds?]**

Korra closed her eyes, said, “I trust you. That’s me dealing it straight.”

**[Doesn’t feel like it.** **Are you in some kind of trouble?** **]**

“I’m not in trouble.”

 **[** **Pretty sure that’s** **bull. This** **little** **game of keep-away you're playing isn't funny anymore. The point is that you might’ve learned something **serious** enough to hide from me and I don’t want you getting hurt again.]**

Korra shifted slightly on the balls of her feet. Through the hiss of the cell, she could hear the whoosh of her own pulse. She hadn’t had back pain in three years. A compressed disc from a tackle she picked up in a case, the pain came and went, though in recent months it seemed to be coming more frequently and with greater intensity. Iroh’s remedies had sped up the healing process, so otherwise, she felt fine.

**[Well?]**

“Well?” She echoed.

**[Aren’t you going to ask why?]**

“Why what?”

 **[You d** **idn’t hear me** **.]** Kai’s voice held a tone of restrained irritation now. **[When was the last time you slept?** **If you’re tired, you’re basically ‘drunk driving’ your life.** **]**

Korra laughed despite herself. “You have no idea.”

**[No I don’t. Because you won’t tell me anything. What's going on with you?]**

_You're doing the right thing_ , she told herself, _You don't have to involve him._ She stood firm. “I need another favor.

**[A favor? After all that? Well, you've got some timing.]**

"Can you check on Naga? I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

**[No questions asked?]**

“No questions asked. I've already asked Opal to make sure she's fed for the night. And one more thing **—** don’t tell Tenzin.”

 **[Easy for you to say. You’re not the one he’s gunning towards** **looking like** **anger personified.** **]**

Her brows raised. “He never comes down to a scene unless it’s important.”

**[I know. Look, I’ll call you back in an hour. Pick up the phone this time.]**

“Blow me.”

*

The night had gotten even colder, and standing on the pavement outside Fire Ferret Medical, contemplating what to do next, Asami braced her hands on the hood of the car, felt them getting hot under the engine’s heat.

Her legs were quivering, she couldn’t tell whether from the nerves or the cold. She was glad for the quiet of the street. Only now, alone, could she think. But it seemed almost too still after the noise of the tunnels.

Dispirited by the experience, she was in two minds about going forth with finding her brother.

A lack of clarity distorted the past five days. There were countless theories as to why Varrick knew Noa, but since there seemed to be no answer besides the obvious one, Asami tended toward the idea that Noa needed the money. It didn’t make much sense, but Noa had dealt primarily in prescribed biologicals when he was in college, and you’d have to be crazy to do that. Especially with a Novatech scholarship.

Her primary insight into the dynamics of street dealing was that a middleman’s business was to make himself scarce if caught between a buyer and a seller.

She had Dex to thank for that piece of knowledge.

Noa up and disappeared a week before their father was arrested. It seemed to be a Sato's disposition to run away from their problems, and Asami wished for the thousandth time that she could be more like her mother. Everything Yasuko Sato had ever done had been seemingly effortless. In the way that she cared for others, and not once shied away from her responsibility's or shortcomings. Her father had adored her mother. Asami remembered him leaving little bouquets of lillies in every little nook and cranny for her mother to find. In the past she was accustomed to seeing the funny, exuberant side of her father, who sang earsplittingly off-key to rock songs whilst working on a car, or happily sat down with her for hours to help with homework and assignments.

That felt like a hundred years ago. The problem? She was no longer certain what she was aiming for. Back then she had been free of the mental crutch rooting her to the ground. Now, all she wanted was to rid herself of the memories.

Well, just the one.

The night of the break-in.

When Asami awoke to the heat licking at her bedsheets and drapes, bookshelves, clothes, paintings. She had one thought upon seeing the flames turning her room to sullen ash: _where were her mommy and daddy?_ It was her father who had come for her and had gone back into the inferno that was their home to get her mother. As a shivering six-year-old Asami was huddled into a blanket in the back of an ambulance, the fire had already burned out. With her mother in it. The last of the lily bouquet's on the gray tombstone her fathe had only visited once. Noa's comfort had eased Asami's grief, but resentment swelled in her father for not being able to save her mother. His grief had been a new side of him that she could not understand as a child. Drifting them further apart.

Only for her to lean on Noa. He had insisted she immerse herself in literary studies, arcane lore, languages. Even combat training. That was what had brought her closer to her brother. He challenged her in the best of ways, a personal confidant, as well as her rock. Her best friends had not been people, but books. She’d easily mastered all her classwork, and had been proud of it, too. A stream of intellectual banter between them the only sound of which echoed the halls of their home.

Asami blinked away the flames of memory riding in on the wavelength of receding _anfetamins_ ; wiped the burning tears from her face.

That infernal buzzing was back. Growling, she ruffled in her bag for the _psyke_ , popped the cap _,_ and poured a few pills into her cupped hands. Heart pumping, she hesitated. _Feel guilty for running away. I’ll settle for that over the pain,_ she decided.

"What is there to be guilty about?" said a voice.

Startled, Asami looked around. There was no one. No one across the street. No one to her sides. No one behind or above her. No one had spoken. She was alone. It was in her head. Always in her head. She heard a soft chuckling noise beneath her feet. The short hairs along the nape of her rose and a second later the swish of the automatic doors brought her out of her reverie. She quickly pocketed the pills as the detective stepped up beside her.

“Why are you standing out in the cold?” Korra asked.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Korra studied her face, blue eyes so direct Asami felt invaded. “So you’d rather freeze to death out here?”

She returned the gaze with a flat stare. “Yes." 

“So that makes a completely rational person?” The detective went on.

“Yes,” Asami replied, trying not to squirm under the scrutinization. “You’re standing out here too. Without a jacket, I might add.”

“I don’t need a jacket," Korra said. “And, well, I wanted to thank you for helping Bolin. You didn’t have to.”

Asami lifted one shoulder in a shrug. She didn't have to do a lot of things.

They said nothing for a moment, both of them watching the empty street.

“If you went through the trouble of liquefying a building, what would you use?” asked Korra. 

“How big a building are we talking?”

“Blackstone Tattoos big.”

“What?" Asami furrowed her brows.

“Someone burned it to a crisp right after we escaped. What do you think could've burned that fast, that efficiently?"

"Depends on what the building was made of." Asami wracked her brain. “Assuming that the parlor’s structure was made mainly with a mixture of aluminum oxide and silica, you’d need a temperature of at least 2000 degrees Celsius to actually liquefy. Typical concrete doesn't melt. It decomposes. Materials containing more than one ingredient generally don't possess just one melting point in any case. However, if you heat it enough, my best guess is about 900 degrees Celsius.”

"An acid could have easily gotten the job done," Korra said.

Asami shook her head. "Acid's are slow and time-consuming." She thought for a moment. “Maybe a drasil,” she suggested, thinking back to the stories her mother read to her.

“That’s not funny,” the detective said seriously.

"I mean a drasil spawn," Asami clarified. "You pump one full of _psyke_ and what do you get?"

“I don’t think a large, fire breathing reptile would go unnoticed in the city.”

“They don’t actually breathe fire,” Asami told her. She was about to add that they hold their breaths whilst flaming methane from their digestive tract in a controlled belch with a hypergolic effect from an enzyme secreted between their rows of teeth when she heard someone cough loudly in front of her. It was a derisive cough, the kind of noise made when the person were trying not to laugh too loud.

She turned around.

Standing across the street was the familiar, tan face that haunted her dreams. Tall, slender and dressed in a fancy black suit as if he’d been expecting well-bred, sophisticated company tonight. The friendly warmth Asami had been feeling froze over like a pond during the frigid winter. Worse than the feeling of being laughed at was her conviction that she knew he hadn’t been standing there five minutes ago.

“What is it?” Korra followed her gaze, but it was obvious from the blank expression on her face that she couldn’t see the man. _But you see h_ _im_ _._ The thought was oddly troubling. He raised his left hand to wave at her, a silver ring glittering on a slim finger as he got to his feet, and began walking, unhurriedly, around the corner.

He was leaving, just like that. 

“I’ll be right back,” she heard herself say as she walked across the street, almost forgetting the cars. Leaving the detective staring after her, Asami raced around the corner. Expecting that he would have vanished back to the depths of his hell, Asami's heart stuttered. 

But he was there, seated casually on a bench. It surprised her that her heart still pounded its usual rhythm, she wasn’t scared. Amon raised his heavy lids and stared at her through bright eyes. Blue eyes colder than that of Korra’s, eith perhaps a hint of madness in them. The kind of madness that wanders its own halls. One you should steer clear of. The large scar that matted his face crinkled as he smiled. Actually less a smile than a baring of teeth. With the hand that rested on the bench, Amon flicked off some debris, then patted the newly cleaned spot. "Sit."

Asami blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “What?

“Do you need new ears? I quite like your old ones.”

Asami consciously touched the lobe of her ear. “You can’t just pop up whenever you want.” She was furious. “I want to know why you’ve been following me.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Amon said as he surveyed her. “Is it normal for you to be dressed like a wraith? People might get the wrong idea.”

Asami frowned. Propriety being the least of her worries right now. “Should I steel myself for your usual philosophy-induced statements of foreboding, or are you actually going to tell me why you're here?"

“Cynicism does not suit you, Miss Sato. Perhaps sarcasm will serve you better."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know. Sit,” he instructed.

Asami hesitated before sitting down a short distance off from him. 

Amon chuckled and scooted closer, pushing aside a a dark strand of her hair. "You’re a lot taller than I remember," he whispered in her ear. “And, surprisingly, eight years in the gutter has not spoiled your beauty."

She clenched her fists until they hirt. “I heard you in the tunnels. Explain.”

The demon-lord sat back with a shrug. “I like to keep an eye on my favorite assets.”

 _Backhanded acknowledgment._ She held back the shiver. "Do you want to tell me why you're here, or should I already expect the worst?”

"Again with the cynicism, Miss Sato." Amon reached out and caressed her cheek, his ring cold against her skin. She felt the wrongness instantly and jerked back. He sighed. "I believe you have questions. Ask what you want before I change my mind. I have appointments to keep."

Asami raised her brows a fraction before she schooled her face into an unreadable mask. Was there a catch? He only ever offered enlightenment when it suited his needs. She'd have to be careful with her words.

"What do you know my brother."

"Him," Amon said, lazily. “Up to no good that one.”

She waited for more, but there wasn’t anything else to say. “Do you know where he is?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You won’t tell me will you?”

“I have no reason to. Why you want to help him is beyond me.”

“Noa is my brother,” she said sullenly. “I’d do anything to for him.”

“Hmm, well that’s the human in you,” said Amon. “If you were fully spawned you would know better. Sheep should sleep in a shed; wolves best left to roam the woods. My suggestion is to exorcise a few of your demons from time to time. I would hate to see your fragile mind break.”

“I’ve done enough of that already.” Rolling up the sleeve of her right arm she held her wrist to the light, showing him the mark not even a chemical shower could burn away.

He cast her arm an indifferent glance. “And I gave you what you wanted. Time.”

She rolled down her sleeve. “Whispering in my ear was not part of the deal. We agreed on abiding restrictions.”

“Guilty pleasures are seldom permanent,” Amon mused. “Except of course in hell, where justice has the scorned hanging by their ankles. Squealing and begging to be set free like the corrupt pigs they are. Did it never occur to you that we were playing by my rules?”

“It occurred to me,” she said. “Doesn’t mean I care.”

Amon laughed. “You don’t know much, do you?” he pointedly said. “I am the Great Marquis of Hell, not some parlor witch. I acknowledge that I have odd methods, but they work. I know what life should be like and understand that many things and creatures are inferior to me. If I don’t save them with the wonders of death, they will die in the horror of life. In my position, it is simply a mercy. You did not want to die, so I gave you a second chance. You stated a desire, I set a price. It’s essentially shopping. Something your father knows all too well about.”

“I am not my father!” she hissed

“No," he said, tilting her chin, "but you are of his making. Blood will be blood, and your plummet off the cliffs that night proved so.”

She yanked her head from his grasp. “While I appreciate your astute observation, I don’t need the psychoanalysis.”

“Your error of judgment is to assume that I care at all.”

“If you didn't, then why did you help me hide?”

There was a long pause. “Tell me,” he said, ignoring her question, “you give out pieces of yourself, let people see the picture you want them to, but underneath that hood, I know who you truly are. A fearful little girl tipping off that same edge. I have seen the wheel of change associated with you, the veil of pain and the mask of false image. I have watched you grow. Soon enough, you will be a wonderful tool of destruction in the depths of hell. And once you teeter and fall for a third time, I will catch but not release.”

"Again," she added softly.

He nodded slowly.

She raised her chin, forcing a smile. “If what you say is true, then more time alive means I can be an even greater investment once I come to the end of my contract."

"Are you proposing another bargain?"

"Give me five more."

“I already have. With a soul that has already been bartered, you have nothing more to trade.”

“I have my father’s collection.”

His head tilted in interest. “Last time you did not know where it was.”

“I lied,” she said without a shred of disconcert. Since she’d discovered that the way to win an argument—to win anything—was with cold, hard logic and absolute control. She considered what she should say next. Whether she had more to gain or lose if she was perfectly forthright. By now she knew where this conversation was headed. "We both know you want to unlock the vault, and I just happen to have the combination. I'll barter time for something more valuable than my soul."

The demon stared at her for a long minute. She had an eerie sense that he was searching her eyes for another lie, and Asami felt herself shrink a little. With enough sense not to wither, she didn't blink. She kept her expression calm, although she was quietly seething underneath. 

"Where is it?

She smirked. _Typical._ “If you want the key, you’re going to tell me where I can find my brother.”

Amon sat back with a frown, eyes bright with contempt. “You don’t want to play this game, Miss Sato. You’ll lose.”

She leaned forward. “I didn’t lose the last time," she reminded. "If you’re scared, go find some other unrighteous soul to play with. I’m sure they have a closet full of _mendelin drax_ just sitting their collecting dust.”

A verbal growl rocked the mechanic's core and she jumped back. Amon exhaled irritably, baring his teeth. “Alright. I’ll bite.” His voice was hard. “But only for so long. My patience will wear thin eventually, and you won’t like what comes with it.”

“Thank you for the reminder," she drawled. "Now tell me where Noa is.”

Amon calmly rose and buttoned his jacket. “In due time, Miss Sato. The key first.”

Asami crossed her arms.

There was nothing cruel in the demon’s voice as he said, “You don’t trust me?”

“We both know I’ll never trust you, and you’ll never be able to trust me.”

“Fair enough.”

“I mean it,” she warned him.

“I know you do,” he said smiling. “That is why I want you. Your fighting quality is exactly what drew me to you in the first place. You are also simply more intelligent than most, and this game of chess is far better than any I have played in centuries. Therefore I am just as sure you will be a worthy ally. Now, enough talk. Your hand.”

Asami stood and held out her right hand grudgingly. The knuckles were dotted with a light freckling of dried blood. Amon took her hand and turned it over so the vulnerable flesh of her inner arm lay bare to him. Unsurprisingly, she felt as exposed as the first time he'd done this. Raising his left hand he pressed a metal-tipped finger into the soft flesh of her wrist. Asami grit her teeth as he drew a matrix of swirling lines. There was a numbing feeling from her knees to her forehead for a few seconds, then she felt a stinging kiss as her blood turned an inky black.

The world tilted and Amon slid a hand across her back, holding her steady. “I feel sick,” she grunted.

“You’re only ever as sick as your secrets,” he said glancing at her.

She knew that. Sometimes she spoke those secrets aloud in her mind. It was easy to give up what she once knew when she realized that everyone in your past believed her facade of perfection. Asami was starting to wonder if this was worth it. The condemnation? The pain? Her brother? _Yes!_ If only to buy herself a bit more time to break free of this curse. Before her eventual undoing.

The pain lasted until the flow of demon blood had stopped. Amon hissed slowly through his teeth, then wiped the leftover blood from her wrist and released her. Despite the throbbing red haze in her head, Asami studied the new markings just below the crease of her wrist: a black design of a rune bracelet wrapped around her pale flesh. _Marked again_.

“Not every attractive,” said Amon. “But then again neither was the first one.”

She covered her arm, suddenly feeling cold. “Are we done?” she asked, forcing the words through her dry throat.

“Depends."

"On what?”

“On whether or not you keep to our deal.”

“Would I lie to you?”

Amon considered this. “I’d know.”

"You overestimate yourself."

“No, you underestimate me," he said. That irritating superiority was back in his voice.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I know there are monsters worse than you." Asami cleared her throat. “But when you need a job done, call on the man with the most experience. Or in this case—demon.”

A thin smirk spread over Amon's lips. “I say, Miss Sato, you’ve come a long way down from the right-minded and moral. Making deals with the devil yet again.”

A winning strategy sometimes necessitated sacrifice. Asami guessed that before all this was over, she’d find out what that was worth.

*

Korra was currently seated on a hospital bed after Kya's adamant coaxing alleviated her anxiety over Bolin's well-being. Her nostrils drank in the sour smell of antiseptic subtle enough not to be noticed by the desensitized physician. Kya lowered a cotton ball, hovering just an inch from the detective's skin. “Ready?”

“Don’t baby me—OW!” A burning sensation shot through Korra when the antiseptic touched her skin. She clamped her hands on the edge of the bed, fighting to contain the surge of nausea as Kya worked on getting the dirt out of the wounds.

“I did ask if you were ready,” Kya said.

Korra pouted. “Don’t be mean."

“Then don’t get hurt. This is gonna take at least ten stitches."

After discarding the bloody cotton, Kya picked up a hypo needle. Making the detective squirm even more. "Could we skip that part? I'll just take the stitches and be on my way."

“The lidocaine will numb your arm long enough for me to finish. It'll be over before you know it. It won’t hurt.” 

"I’m not worried about it hurting," Korra said.

Then stop fussing."

Korra set her teeth to squelch a retort. She bit her lip when the metal pierced her skin. After what felt like an eternity, but was about five seconds, Kya rubbed the arm and gave her a knowing look as if to say, 'See, that wasn't so hard.'

“I can't believe the big bad detective is afraid of needles," Ginger said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Korra bit back a retort and curled her fingers, absorbing the numbness of her arm as Kya worked a while in silence. The fingers cradling her own were soft and warm, careful yet calculated. She relaxed, but the tension was palpable from the doctor. Kya wanted answers, so Korra ran through the story while the doctor continued her examination.

“I wasn't going to let him die," Korra said. "And there was no one else I trusted to help him."

Kya was shaking her head. This was one of those rare moments she let her disapproval show. "You know I’m legally obligated to call the cops whenever a patient with a brand shows up. The last time, with the other woman, was a favor. It's a lot more complicated when you show up with a half-dead kid over your shoulder. Turning a blind eye is not as easy.”

“Bending the rules—” Korra began

“Is not what I do anymore. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been suspended." Kya gave her a long and measured look. "When was the last time you even had a good night’s rest?”

“I’m fine,” Korra bit out.

Ginger snorted.

"Ging, I swear to—"

“Where is she anyway?” Kya interjected. "Tall, dark, and brooding."

Korra shrugged. “She just ran off.”

“Did she say she would come back?” Ginger asked.

“Yeah, but that's not the point."

Ginger tilted her head. "Do you not want her to come back?”

"Also not the point," Korra said sourly.

"So you do?"

“Why does it matter? She can go jump off a—”

“Cliff?” Ginger remarked.

Korra frowned. “Do we need to have a conversation?”

“I wasn’t reading you on purpose,” the auditor defended. “But don’t change the subject, and don’t act like you haven’t taken an interest in the mechanic. I see the way you look at her.”

“What about the way _you_ look at her?”

“That’s different. I feel weird around her.”

“Ging, you feel weird around everyone.”

“I'm aware," Ginger said tersely. "But her weird makes my skin crawl. It's like...something's missing."

"She's a mechanic," Korra said. "They tend to be cool and unyielding."

"There's cool, and then there's ice. That woman's head isn't screwed on right. It's all shadowy and vague..."

Ginger trailed off, lost in thought.

Korra ran the vague memory of Bumi offering a similar reaction to Asami. The warning to be careful had flown over the top of her head. She had nothing to be afraid of. Not in a city of monsters.

“Ya'know, Varrick makes your skin crawl, and he’s the weirdest person I know," she commented.

Ginger blinked, as if woken from a dream. “ _Varrick_ is a spider, and you know how much I hate spiders."

Kya was shaking her head. "What were you thinking going after him? You know how dangerous he is."

“I was thinking I could help prove Mako's innocence,” Korra said. “Isn’t that what we do? Help those in trouble?”

"Yes. But there are limits."

"That's nothing but an excuse. If I can do it, I'm going to. And nothing's gonna stop me."

Kya’s face softened as she sighed. “Your hearts too big for your own good.” She knotted the last stitch, cut the thread, and bandaged Korra's arm. “Now for your wrist. The cuts aren’t as deep so you can get by with a few bandages.”

“Thanks,” Korra said softly. “I owe you.”

Kya smiled. “No you don’t. Just do me a favor and be more careful from now one. I enjoy going against Tenzin sometimes, but he’s still my brother, and I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

After smearing some antibiotic ointment on a pad, she laid it gently over the lacerations on Korra's hand and then expertly wrapped it with a roll of gauze. She then quickly scribbled what Korra needed on a paper and handed it to her.

“Apply the lotion twice a day. The painkillers once a day. The stitches need to come out in five days. You can drop by here and I’ll snip them for you. Tonight is off the record, but this is the last time. Got it?”

Korra nodded and hopped off the bed. Kya stalled for a moment before patting her on the back and left the room.

"So what's plan B?" Ginger asked.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and the dark head of Asami Sato peeked into the room just as Korra slipped on her shirt. “You’re still…here."

Asami nodded, regarding Korra from the doorway. “The doctor—Kya—said I’d find you here.”

"Need something?”

“Yeah, I…” Asami licked her lips, and Korra tracked the movement with a curious gaze—the red lipstick had smudged. She blinked and redirected her gaze.

"I want to help," Asami went on.

Korra raised a brow. “With what? The kid’s going to be fine, so you can leave.” 

As it was, Bolin was stable. He'd have to spend a few days in hospital under observation. Still, Korra felt an underwhelming sense of relief.

“That's good,” Asami said curtly, “but not what I meant. I want to help you find Varrick.”

Korra blinked. “You wanna run that by me again?”

“I think I can find Varrick.”

"You think?"

Asami shut the door and took a deep breath. “Think of the data matrix as its own existence—”

Korra stopped her short. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just listen,” Asami said with a hint of exasperation. “Think of the data matrix as its own existence. Down low, along the baseline, mixed in with the home and cheap data-shuttle systems, would be the data mail strips. A low-grade cyberdeck crawling with every data-morph from every computer in the city. Hanging right above it would be the megalith constructs—multimillion-dollar corporations running in their own Biosystems. Smack dab in the middle of it all is every hacker’s dream. The telecom grid…

…The telecom grid is a sort of bridge between the two data systems, a deliberately unsupervised playground for root-data itself because it’s too volatile to understand. But with the right set of skills and tech, access to the grid means you can Fastjack the preprogrammed chip of any augment without a neural interface security feature. Zhu Li had a Gemini tag on the back of her neck. An advanced microprocessor that monitors brain chemistry and mutagen levels in the bloodstream. Classic FIT industries issue.”

Gear like that could get you rolled in Republic City."

“Gear like that is trackable. I strip out the corporate ID tracings from the FIT server and job done."

“Wait, so—”

“I can track the augment. Pin-point location.”

Korra took a minute to let the information settle, then asked, “What’s in it for you?”

“Varrick owes me money,” Asami replied. “I’m not about to let him disappear without paying me.”

Korra narrowed her eyes. “That's it? Just money?"

“Look, I’m offering my services. You get what you want, I get what I want, and everyone’s happy," Asami said, holding out her hand. "So?”

Korra was hesitant to agree. She opened her mouth to say no, but then she thought of Mako and Bolin, and what they’d been put through in the past month. She found herself reviewing that decision. In truth, she had no reason to challenge the mechanic. They would have to work together on this, and it was too early in the game to be battling with her morals.

She held back a sigh and took the pale hand. “So this is us working together again.”

Asami gave a curt nod. "Try not to kill me this time."

"I can guarantee that that's the last thing I want to do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose a bit of RnR never hurt anyone. Not unless Korra can bite her tongue, that is...

Republic City after midnight. It was better than the bumble of the day and waiting to through traffic to get home before dark, better than being caught in the woes of the night after the sunset.

Korra stared vacantly at the black walnut slats of the ceiling of the Mute Duck, transfixed by a discolored spot that shaped oddly like a buffalo yak. Bumi was behind bar, his arm jerking monotonously as he swabbed the scarred wood with a rag. The time passed in discussion, which held a faint ripple of tired amusement. Korra relaxed a little more with every breath out. Figures. Since Varrick and the hospital, her thoughts were on air. Being bored had somehow kept her calm. Things were as quiet now as driving a Sato mobile down the deserted north freeway at two am. This would perhaps be the quietest Korra had seen the Mute Duck in ages—it sort of set the mood for the last half-hour. It seemed the bar was not much for excitement in the early morning. A passed out drunk the only other person present apart from them.

After three o’clock it felt a bit listless not to get a drink, and Bumi topped her with a glass she promised to pay for. Ginger hummed quietly to herself, leaned back in a chair, glazed eyes staring at the bottle shelf.

The irritating sound of fingernails tapping wood had Korra glaring at the auditor. “Do you have to do that?” she snapped. “It’s annoying.”

Ginger tapped louder. A rhythmic beat she added to the tuneful humming, which was somewhere between a nursery rhyme, and “The Ballad of Sokka.”

Korra sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry I snapped at you."

Ginger stopped humming. “You should be. Does anyone ever clean this place?” she enquired, with vague distaste.

Bumi huffed and smacked her feet off the bar. “So what’s the deal with your girl?” he asked, passing Ginger her fries. “I didn’t think I’d see you back together after the first night.”

"She’s just helping with a problem," Korra said and drank.

“You don't seem too happy about that. Do you ever have a normal day? Or at least try to?”

“Once. It was a Wednesday." She sighed. "I definitely need more Wednesdays.”

Bumi made a show of his amusement by letting out a bark of laugher and thumping the bar. It startled everyone except Asami, who was engrossed in her work. “Korra, you come here every other night of the week scuffing shots of whiskey, whilst enjoying wild merriment into the wee hours of first light, running up a merchers tab that you almost never pay for.”

"What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You're basically me as a teenager, if you hadn't noticed. I don’t know if I should be proud or worried.”

“Pride has nothing to do with it,” Ginger said. “She’s a walking beacon for trouble and someone has to keep her in check. Why do you think I’ve been keeping her around?"

Bumi roared again. “Oh! Remember Lava and her flair for rare hand-weaving?”

“I…that was three years ago, why do you?" Korra rubbed the back of her head, blushing. "And before you say anything, it’s not my fault she blew out your windows. She’s the one who couldn’t take a hint."

“Now that,” Bumi began, “that is such bullshit. Would you like me to pull out the stick of denial up your ass?”

“I don’t know, it’s pretty far up there.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Ginger asked.

Korra said, "Just to be clear, tagging along was your idea."

The auditor nodded. “And a good one at that. I pat myself on the back for it every minute or so.”

Korra opened her mouth about to say something, then thought better of it.

As she was taking a sip, one of those strange instants of silence descended over the fairly empty bar, as though a hundred unrelated conversations had simultaneously halted at the same time. Her breath fanned her face once she exhaled.

After a long silence, Ginger asked, “What the hell was that?”

Bumi answered, “A spirit just passed.”

Korra raised a brow. “You’re letting ghosts in now?”

“One ghost,” he grumbled, “And she won’t leave. Not sure how long she’s been here for. With all the bottles that have been dropping lately, I’d think since before I bought the place. Gives me a heart attack every time I take a shower. Polter’s and their bathroom fetish.”

Korra bit back her laughter as Bumi shot her a glare that’d melt the caps. “Sorry—sorry. The image in my head is just…” she shook her head and cleared her throat. “You _were_ always the ladies man, have you tried communicating?”

“Meng-Meng isn’t much of a talker,” said Bumi, grinning, “but once I whip out the cards, it’s like watching an artiste at work. Takes me backk to when I had to play a band of pirates at the Hurricane Straits for passage.”

“Can that artiste get me more fries and a sandwich?” Ginger held up her plate. “I have a black hole that needs filling.”

The wolf muttered bad words under his breath, frowning like a gorilla before he ran around to what Korra could only assume was supposed to be the kitchen.

The only reason they were her was because Asami had insisted on a list of items they couldn’t just pick up at a hardware store. Such as virt-googles. According to the complex scheme of the mechanic, she’d have to drift into the Matrix herself to get Zhu LI’s location data.

Not one person had crossed Korra’s mind until she remembered Bumi’s nostalgic disposition. He never threw anything away. She couldn’t believe her luck after dumpster diving through his backroom and finding the cables, battery, and, unexpectedly some old virt-goggles. Ancient looking, but useful none the less.

Korra got up and slumped in the booth across from Asami—who had willingly pulled her hood back, much to the detective’s surprise. Korra couldn’t help but study the other woman in the light, notice the subtle differences from before. For a human, Asami certainly put Undines to shame. Korra had to admit that was astounding. All things considered, she looked an awful lot better than the detective felt at the moment.

Asami groaned, screwdriver clamped between her teeth. With the contents of her bag spread out across the booth, it looked as though a garage had spued all over the table. There were wires, coils, duct tape, and things that just made no sense at all to Korra. Asami was definitely a far cry from the soulless water spirits if she could understand all of which was going on in front of her.

“You mumble."

Asami looked up. She blinked a few times as if she needed a moment to process what Korra had said. Toying with the idea that she and Asami might perhaps be friendly with one another was wishful thinking, but Korra thought it important to try harder.

The detective picked up a fat bundle of elastic cable from the chaos. “Feeling stunted by your own brilliance?”

Asami dropped the screwdriver. “Usually that isn’t a problem,” she replied. "It’s just that rewiring the battery circuitry to utilize my body’s natural bioelectric field is proving frustrating.”

“Is this really necessary? From what I’ve heard, linking isnt very safe. I still think we should just use a computer.”

Asami shook her head. “I prefer to be in direct co-relation with the grid. If you’re worried about me frying my brain, don’t, I’ve done this before. Worst case scenario, I lose link-time before I get what I want.”

Somehow Korra doubted that. “I don’t think I know that many people who’d go linking without a second thought.”

“That’s assuming you do,” said Asami. The mechanic moved the battery aside so she could pick up the goggles, biting her lip as if in search of a question. “I have been meaning to ask—how did you recognize me the night we met?”

"I guessed.”

“You guessed?” Asami said in disbelief. “You must have been pretty sure, considering I’ve been dead eight years.”

Korra shouldn’t have, yet she laughed anyway. “You don’t seem that beat up about it." But Asami kept regarding her with an imploring gaze for her to continue. “Okay fine, to answer your question: it’s kind of hard to forget a face like yours. What with every news outlet in the city splashing it around for months after your accident. Even getting into trouble, I never missed out on the news about ‘The Heiress of Fortune’s Unfortunate Fortuity’.”

“I see." Asami stared at the googles in her hand.

“Why the long face?” Ginger inquired. “All that publicity and you’re sulking? I’d take advantage of it.”

“Now you’re just being unfair,” Bumi chimed in from the kitchen. He peeked his head around as he spoke. "I’m sure she's got her reasons. Don't ya, miss Sato?"

“Please,” Ginger said, "Why would anyone continue to live in the Barcs if they can afford another option.”

The detective looked at Asami, who had fixed everyone with her cool, green eyes; which Korra was sure held contemplation.

"Not to intrude," Ginger wnet on, "but I'm curious to know why you stayed.

“Why?" Asami said, bristling in her seat.

“It’s a simple question," said Ginger.

“It’s a personal question," Asami shot back.

“No less personal than me asking what your favorite color is,” Korra said trying to make light of it. “I thought we were warming up to each other. Ya'know, breaking the ice?”

“Me being the ice, and you the chisel?”

“Well, I wouldn’t—”

“I don’t appreciate your assumptions of my life,” Asami said firmly. “So maybe you should all mind your damn business.”

“I’m kinda paid not to mind my business," Korra said without thinking. As soon as she said the words, she regretted them immediately.

Asami’s irritation morphed to a look of ire, her mouth setting in a tight line. Korra could almost feel Bumi and Ginger’s gaze as they waited for the mechanic to explode. The room seemed unusually hushed, the seconds ticking by as the mechanic seethed. Instead, she threw her hood forward, and rose menacingly.

“May I make use of your office space?” she said to Bumi, who stood cradling the plate of fries like an infant.

He hesitated, then offered a short nod and the keys. Asami packed her tools, gadgets, took the plate of fries, and retreated. She spent the rest of the evening in the confounds of the office.

Korra spent her evening avoiding Ginger's vexed glares.


	11. Chapter 11

At one-oh-five p.m., Kai sucked down a chocolate protein shake that was lukewarm and terrible. He resisted the urge to look at his watch, knowing that only a minute had passed since his last check.

From his spot on the sidewalk, he watched forensics loaded what was left of Blackstone Tattoos into the back of a semi-truck on its way. Otica Street was narrow and already crowded with official CSU vehicles, Kai spotted Eska strategically shifting through the ruins with calculated grace, hard hat on although it seemed unnecessary as there was nothing above her anymore. The floor was burned, scarce walls charred, the blackened skeleton of Blackstone Tattoos glinting in the midday sun. It looked clean. Like a jutted work of art and not a crime scene.

No matter how many cases Kai had investigated, there was always something new in every one of them. He'd stayed at the site for hours, watching first responders, clear debris and assist forensics however they could. At some point during the night, Jinora found him there and tried to get him to leave or at least promise to get some sleep, but he'd stayed until dawn. Had gone home, then back again a few hours later. Whatever had happened last night he wished he'd seen it for himself.

On his way over he'd glanced every building down the street, had done the same a block from Blackstone. There was no CCTV footage to track by and that annoyed him. It would have been a convenient place to start.

Either way, this wasn't his turf. Tenzin made that crystal clear whilst berating him about covering for Korra. Tenzin was enraged, and had immediately launched into a lecture that would have done any mother proud. Some extra embellishments were an added. The chief was centered on the idea that she was being impulsive again, her knee-jerk reactions trailing trouble along the way. 

While Kai focused more on homicide, Korra had more diverse interests, and had expressed on more than one occasion her desire to sway into unchartered territory. She was the sort to disobey orders if need be.

Now, she was on the outside and he worried that she might catch more than a suspension.

Raava help you if Korra Waters decides you’re guilty of something.


	12. Chapter 12

The office was as quiet as a tomb.

A flash of blue sparked right in front of her nose and Asami twisted her body to move away from it. Another bright spark, larger this time. She blinked. Then another spark. Blink. She cranked the voltage. Waited for exactly the right moment. Another fla—

“Ow!”

Asami let out a yelp of resentment, her knee bumping the underside off the table. She pulled off the goggles, sucking on left her thumb.

It had gone on like that for hours. She was bruised six finger's through, the whole time uncertain she was moving forward, or in any direction at all. But her frustration kept prickling her bubble of concentration, making it all a mess of miscalculations.

She rubbed her temples, trying to calculate the variable she missed.

The virt-goggles were the poor persons version of translating raw electronic data into a multi-sensory experience, allowing the clunky, old tech to visualize her thoughts in three dimension. Since sight was the easiest sense to fool, the little she knew about the human body had helped her to re-configure the sensory receptors on the goggles. But it was a look-don't-touch experience.

There was no faster way to find information than through the Matrix. And if you could interact with it—even better. Skinlinking enabled a user to manipulate the electrical activity in their muscles to wirelessly control any device without the need for expensive cybernetic implants. For most of the night, Asami had tried and failed to get the skinlink to interconnect with her system.

A hacking attempt as such, wasn’t something to be undertaken lightly, and certainly not with the kind of equipment she had on hand.

Back in the day, it had taken her months to put together the kind of custom-built system she needed for such activities. Clearly she didn’t have time to build one now, which meant the only option left was to use the goggles and skinlink as she was not about to share her newest home address with anyone.

Though she would like to be there right now, in a clean set of clothes after a hot shower and the solace of her projects. All alone. Alone was good. Alone she could think.

She scribbled and scratch her head, poring over why the skinlink wouldn't meld with her body; every few moments reaching automatically for the pill bottle in her bag. Then retreating. The longer she held out, the more enticing the pills became. She allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to pop one in her mouth.

It vaguely occurred to her that her arm had been throbbing for what was most likely half an hour. That she felt sluggish. Palms sweaty. Every muscle tense and craving relaxation as blood coursed miles of veins. A pulse sounding in her ears.

Asami could put up with a lot really, but it wasn’t like her to let a copper get her so rattled. Korra's uninformed and unsolicited comments had gotten under her skin. It disturbed her how angry she felt. Since the moment she'd met the detective, her mind had been feeding her faces and images, memories and details of her past and how her old life had screeched to a halt.

The brain had a funny way of squirreling those things away and bringing them back when they were most unwelcome. Images were flashing through her mind, conflicting images. She relived her death on a loop.

~

_Lightning, rain and thunder, it stormed. At no time slowing._

_After the second gear shift Asami wanted to go faster. She felt the car groaning underneath her as she pushed it to its limits, the hiss of the tires on the slick road. She wasn’t stopping for anything, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to take her foot off the gas. She told herself not to push the car past a hundred for fear of throwing a rod, but the sharper the corners the more her adrenaline spiked, punching the roof._

_She'd grown up around this area, had learned to drive here and knew every bend and corner of this road like the back of her hand. The narrow, unpredictable road would have slowed anyone else under such a battering storm, the steep cliffs to her right acting as a deterrent to all but the boldest of drivers. She pressed harder on the accelerator, knowing there was a long straight coming up. No sooner had this thought crossed her mind as high-beam headlights burst against her like white molten metal._

_Straight away she slammed on her brakes and turned the wheel, hard over. Tyres skidded on slick tarmac and the low metal crash barrier at the edge of the road swung into view as the car fishtailed. The crash barrier presented little resistance, buckling and tearing apart under the impact as the car veered right into it. It flipped straight over on its roof, rolling and crashing down the steep rocky slope towards the roaring black ocean. By the time it hit the surface the chassis had been reduced to a mass of twisted and buckled metal, rushing cold waves enveloping the car, swallowing it, sucking it under._

_All at once a million tiny pinpricks of ice drove themselves into every inch of her body. She opened her mouth to scream in pain and alarm, and instead inhaled a lungful of salt water. She could taste the coppery blood pooling in her mouth, felt it grazing her teeth and soaking her tongue. The weight of the sea bearing down on the car. With no one to hear, her last last cramped scream of salt and blood, she drifted alone into the depths of deep silence_

~

She wasn’t alone.

All around her were voices, whispering and otherworldly. She remembered the dark shape exploding out from the darkness. He moved from the shadows, hot eyes burning blue, smiling at her as if he’d won a prize. A wolf's smile. 

His voice had been gentle, coaxing, “Do not be afraid. I will make the pain go away. I will give new life, where old has been stolen."

She took his hand and that was it for her, the beginning of the end of what was her past life. Amon had whispered secrets of what might have been, and what would come. The rules were comprehensively simple: Amon closely-held her soul, and she’d get ten years of freedom. What she did with that time meant nothing to him. Afterward, she was his to whatever bounds.

The next thing she knew she'd washed up on shore, spitting up salt water and heaving greedy breaths. She remembered the pinching rocks on her back and the night air chilling to the soles of her feet. Her mind filled with searing recall. The ocean of death embracing her body in its freezing arms, the splinters of glass piercing her skin, the pressure of water slamming against her body. The pictures had wrapped around her, suffocating her, until some rational part of her brain had reminded her that she was alive.

After she'd gotten her bearings, there was nowhere else to go but home. Walking back under dead of night in her soggy jeans and flannel, she'd dwindled in on herself, shutting out the pain and the cold and the discomfort to a place where nothing could touch her. To a place where she felt safe. Although, instead of relief, she'd felt her terror intensify.

At the foot of the Sato estate she stood. Its shadowy figure looming four stories high, its arched windows reflecting the moonlight like silvery mirrors, the many floodlights surrounding it, casting a cold gleam over its surface, and dark turrets rising from its corners to puncture the night sky...

The idea had come to her quite suddenly and simply. Without hesitation, she'd spun around and walked the other way—consequences be damned. Eventually she'd wound up in Downtown RC with no cash, and without a shred of street smarts.

She had every intention of breaking ties with her old life, so it hadn't been that difficult to stay under the radar. But seeing as she was used to the broader, quieter, and private streets of the Heights, living asked more from her than she’d bargained for. She'd never realized how much of her confidence had been tied to her old life. The worst part about it was the hunger. When there was no food, she'd found unsavory ways to compensate for that, nimble fingers slipping into even the most difficult of places. Turned out drunken trolls didn’t take too kindly to being pickpocketed—quite fast too, for such boisterous creatures. They chased her down an alley, where she ran head-first into Dex himself, knocking him flat on his ass.

One look and Asami had known the kind of trouble he was. By then she'd spent enough time in the Barcs to spot his type a mile away. She'd glanced trigger men on almost a daily basis. Some were in it for the money. Most were in it for the sport. Only reason she was still breathing was that she made it her business to try and understand these guys so she would know how to stay off their radar and out of their sights.

Yet somehow, even an aggravated Dex hadn’t looked past her distress. He had made a show of sizing up the three trolls, as though deciding how much trouble they were worth. How much trouble she was worth. Thinking back to it, she should have thanked him and walked away, but the glint in his eye had gotten the better of her. But for some reason, she didn't feel threatened by him.

Dex had been a pretty good boyfriend, and she'd often forget about the things he did to earn a living. Nothing fazed him, and for that reason nothing stopped him. He was smart. He was careful. He had hustle. He supplied Dust, Silver, Goofies, glue, kandy when he was up to it. He knew all the rich kids from the clubs.

Living with him, at first it, had been a matter of survival, but eventually they'd grown close. Or at least as close they were going to get. Dex knew who she was, and didn’t care. She couldn’t rightly say what had kept them together for such a long time, they just seemed to gravitate towards each other.

Think an attic flat of 700 square feet in the Dragon Flats borough. Sanded floorboards and drab whitewashed walls that resulted an open living space, with the bedroom behind a bookshelf, and the dining and living rooms next to a small kitchen behind a counter. Their shared home a practical sanctuary for a good while.

~

_Asami awoke one afternoon, skinned in sweat. The room was musty and much warmer than the humid summer air outside. The ancient dragon of an air conditioner squatting uselessly in a corner._

_Sometimes she woke up and had to ask where she was, then the smell of mildew and cigarettes served reminder. Dex wasn't a smoker—neighbours._

_She clambered out of bed and into the kitchen where she found him shirtless in the heat, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling, tattoos stark across his flexing back. A chair pulled up to the counter where his latest concoction brewed. Steam layered the air and water dripped from the low ceiling. On the counter a layer of something thick and clear was collecting on the top of a container._

_She went to kneel beside him, picking up a vial of white powder and studying it. “What’s this?”_

_“Something new."_

_“What does it do?”_

_Dex licked his lips and set aside the canister of lye flakes. “If I tell you, what do I get in return?”_

_She tousled his stringy hair, touching his rough skin, playing along his jaw until she traced his lips. She grazed them lightly, with later to think about, it was teasing and brief. “I’m sure I can think of something."_

_He groaned. “You never play fair,” he said nipping her lip. “Fine. I'll bite. It makes you happy. Makes you feel like you can do anything.”_

_“I already feel like that with you."_

_“Then I need you to do me favour." He turned her hands palm down on his thighs. His hands were cool on hers, and she was aware of them in a way she had never been before. "Never touch it."_

_“What do you mean?”_

_He leaned close. She could feel his lips against her ear. They were not cool at all. “Don’t ever touch any of this stuff. Don’t ever do it behind my back. Do you promise?”_

_She promised._

_He said,” If you ever do, you’ll never see me again_.”

~

He was adamant that she not.

Fast forward a year and a half…

Once a month, every full moon, Dex would handle a particular delivery by himself; with clientele he took care not to cross. However long ago that might have been, Asami wished she hadn't gone along that one particular night. Admittedly she'd begged to go, so he'd relented, like always, but even that willingness had given way when he’d caught on to the one rule she swore never to break

But she had to forget...

_...the blur of shadowy movement, the slashing of a blade to the sound of a strangled, gurgling groan. Again and again the blade came down, spilling bloody rot._

She remembered the look on his face as he ripped through mangled flesh. He was the same Dex—cold, rude, impossible—but beneath all that anger, she’d seen something else, too. Fear, at a time that meant nothing to a guy like Dex. She was unjust cause.

Asami folded her arms and shivered. She shut her eyes, as she did so her mind continued to ascent into panic.

She hadn't had a panic attack in years. It was as if her grief had been bottled up for so long, the seal had permanently frozen shut. Her pulse swelled and swept over her in breaking waves. Swallowing, she clenched her pill-filled hand and tried to ignore the growing apprehension in her chest. She failed to shove it down deep as eight years’ worth of pain came pouring out all at once.

 _Get rid of it. Make it go away. Make it go away_.

The mechanic's hand shot into her bag and withdrew the bottle. It rattled so loudly that she jerked her head around. There was no one. She poured two pills into her palm, then two more, and another two, another—pause. Hesitation drew on her again. It was one too many, but once she took her pharmaceutical helpers, her mind would be steady enough to do a good job.

She yelled at herself to stop hesitating. Then did what she should've done hours ago.


	13. Part 3

Around late afternoon, the Mute Duck was in full swing. The five o'clock knock-offs were pulling in one after another, encroaching the bar with their hoarse laughter and clinking of ale beer. The same hard-drinking, rollicking crowd who'd filled the bar to party hearty every week.

Patrons dramedied their stories in elated tones, and inebriated dockers swore and hollered about work or spouses, others ran a game of Counterfeit at the tables, somewhere else rung the occasional sound of glass shattering…

What was it if not noisy?

The too loud voices were but a murmur from the bathroom in the back. Which is where Korra leaned against the doorway, ripping open another packet of Howl chips. That would be four now? She'd lost count. Of the time? Not so much.

Every hour, for...several hours, she'd glanced at her watch. It was now coming up on seven o'clock. Her patience waning. As a homicide detective, she had to tolerate a lot of things.

Boredom was not one of them.

Her back hurt and she wanted to bathe it with cold water. She wanted to walk around for a while. She wanted to eat. She wanted coffee. Big mugs of coffee that were full cream and half milk, the way her mother would make them in the morning. The thought to bring Asami a cup entered her mind. Did she like coffee? Maybe bitter and ashy, or creamy and sweet. Or maybe not coffee. Maybe tea. Iroh had suggested she brew tea once. Jasmine Pearl, his favorite, and said to be a relatively soothing brew with a lovely hint of sweetness.

The detective shifted slightly to loosen the weight on her left leg, and dormant nerves shot up her spinal column, cuing a grunt. Along with it came a worry. The last time she'd skipped out on the leechleaf elixir she'd left ashen footprints all over her apartment; terrible for her rent bill. Bit otherwise, she was sure she could go a few more days without it.

Or maybe she should have been more worried about the ghost peeking her head through the wall every minute or so, making the bathroom a fluctuation of temperatures.

"Curious little thing isn't she?" said Ginger, who'd been examining her face in the small bathroom mirror. "How do you think she died?"

Korra nearly choked on a chip, thumping her chest to clear her airway. She made to reproach Ginger then caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror. Had a good look at herself. Cringed. The face looking back had tangled hair and bloodshot eyes. Sleep deprived. It had been a long day and it was beginning to show.

Ginger appeared opposite. Her hair sat as perfectly as it did yesterday at the Lotus—Raava forbid, it be out of place—and not the faintest smudge of blood stood out. She turned away from the mirror with a sunny smile.

Korra rubbed her throat. "Could you at least pretend to feel guilty about what you just said?"

"Aren't you the least bit curious? You're supposed to be a nosy detective."

"That got me in trouble yesterday."

Ginger tisked "That was yesterday.Why does the brave detective Korra Waters fret over a woman?” she said in a theatrical voice. "’Tis a sad story indeed. Her charm was winnowed away by a vexatious agent, and now she can but wonder—”

"Quit it or I'll return you to Zaheer."

Ginger made a face. "Now that was in poor taste. I'm not a library book."

"When was the last time you even went to a library?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Me."

"Me, who?"

Korra rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Please just stay out of my head. This is the last time I'll ask nicely."

"Forget nice. You're not acting normal, you're not infectiously smiling, you always look aggravated and grumpy. Honestly, it's tiring me out. You can pretend all you want that the box of negatives in your head aren't about to explode. But when it does, that dark energy you're holding onto, won't seem worth it afterwards."

Korra didn’t bother answering. What good would it do? She was too tired to be argue, and Ginger would continue to poke the bear no matter what she said. And although she wanted to voice what was playing on her mind, there were secrets to keep and mysteries she had to solve on her own.

She hadn't had a decent nights rest in three months. It was the nightmares, really.

They disturbed her sleep, and that, at first, had been the most annoying part. But with time the dreams progressed. And they were always the same. Always Kuvira. Her voice would fill Korra's mind, soothing the frayed edges. Kuvira was flying a plane over vast and foreign woods. She was happy, flying the airplane. Korra would turn and smile at her. Then the windshield would disintegrate in slow motion, thousands of tiny spiderweb cracks spreading outward from each point of impact, the miniature fragments blowing inward in lazy arcs in front of her eyes.

She would wake up in a cold sweat. Shivering and angry. She couldn't understand precisely why, but she was always angry, with vague feelings of panic. She began spending nights at Bumi's. She dreamt less when she was drunk.

What had happened? Had they crashed? Was it just a dream? It never felt like just a dream.

She'd thought of mentioning it to Tenzin, but never did. She couldn't, for some reason. Maybe she did want to tell him after all. Something was nagging at the edge of her mind, but she couldn’t quite bring it into focus—something wrong with the last time she'd seen Kuvira, something that was important. But it dissolved into images of fire when she got too close to it. Maybe this had been festering away inside her for longer than she cared to admit. But it was difficult enough piecing the dreams together, and she wasn’t willing to tell anyone yet—not when it could, quite literally, be all in her head.

Bumi lumbered into the bathroom, wide-eyed and grinning ear-to-ear. "You're gonna wanna see..." He was interrupted as a burst of cheers drowned out his voice.

"What's going on?" Korra asked, instantly alert.

"Put your fists away. Someone else is getting pummeled." Bumi started back to the bar, laughing. "Now come on! You'll miss it."

Baffled, she recounted the last time Bumi had been this excited about a fight in his own bar. She glanced at Ginger, who waved her off dismissively, then trailed after the wolf. A half-step into the commotion she spotted Kai through the gaps in the crowd.

He stood to his full length, looking about as business casual as that day at the docks in flat-front khakis and a green button-down shirt under a leather jacket. Only this time his shoulders were stiff as he squared off an all too familiar and brutish face.

"Pretty boy, jest apologize and I won't have to hit you no more." Tongs crowed, his teeth matching his disgusting beard.

Kai thumbed his jaw and smirked. "Those aren’t nice words. Why don’t you sit down before I make you eat ’em?”

“I'll eat you,” Tongs spat.

A few snickers escaped the crowd. Korra had to give it to Tongs, the guy was drunk enough to be brave, but that also meant drunk enough to be stupid. They were, in fact, having a good old-fashioned bar brawl, laughing because endorphins told them it felt great. Spectators spun in circles, cackling and whooping wildly, enjoying themselves. Tongs mouthed off again, and this time, Kai couldn't hide the menacing grin. He reached out a hand and curled his fingers toward himself, a gesture familiar to Korra from the playground as 'Come and get me'—and the brute rushed at him.

Tongs' melon of a hand fired millimeters over Kai's head. It helped that he was slimmer, and light on his feet. Thanks to weekends spent brawling in the boxing ring, he dodged all the little cracks Tongs made at his face. He swayed to one side just enough to let a big haymaker past, and gave Tongs a sharp left uppercut, right into his liver. Opponent bawled over, he gave a terrific shove of his boot to Tongs' ass that sent the guy sliding across the floor and parking right at Korra's feet.

There was uproar! 

Bumi's own reply was a low growl that made Korra's stomach flutter. He was happy. She jabbed his shoulder and he muled.

"What?"

"Why's it that when I start a fight, you're always scowling?"

"Kai didn't break a single thing."

The man himself stalked towards them. Soon as the handcuffs came out, the crowd dispersed. Kai grabbed Tongs by the back of the jacket and hauled him to his feet, all the while baring a finger at Korra.

"As soon as I get this asshole in cuffs, you and I are going to have words."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Higher than a kite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little crazy lately, what with exams coming. Squeezing in writing has never been such a hassle, but I wanted to update this week just to get it out of my system.
> 
> I hope y'allz enjoy the chapter.

Asami had more energy than she did an hour ago; in fact, she felt marvelous. She was feeling good about herself as she strode down the sidewalk. She felt super confident, super strong, super smart. Her headache gone.

She'd never taken four before. And why not? It was like being stung by a scorpion bee. Most people didn’t want anything to do with those nasty beasties, who were larger, more intelligent versions of their common cousins the spider wasp. Their venom was a dance party in your veins, boogying along to your brain until you become lethargic, fall comatose and ultimately die.

Asami felt that was rather interesting, really quite worthy of further and deeper consideration, and she was about to think about it, think quite carefully and coolly about it, when Ginger spoke up.

She was complaining about the cold, teetering left and right like a pendulum seeking warmth.

In the gloom, Asami could not see Ginger's face, only the halo of her hair—a faint red glow that washed about the auditor's head, drawing streaks through the bleakness with every swish. Ginger had a remarkably beautiful voice, Asami noticed. It was sweet and warm and clear. It contrasted with the rest of her, which was as dark as nightfall.

Asami giggled. "You look like a gloomman."

Ginger looked at her and made a face. "No such creature could compare to me."

"You sure? I haven’t actually met one before."

"Of course I'm sure." The auditor was looking at the mechanic in an odd way, as if she might become angry.

Bubble, bubble," Asami laughed. "Toil and trouble."

Normally she never would have been so brazen, but the _psyke_ was thick in her blood and her confidence was soaring.

Her gaze drifted away for a moment to an all-night drive in. The kids were there, laughing and snogging in convertibles under the lights. The night air smelled like hamburgers, cigarettes and human modernity. Nearby, a pack of mangy-looking dogs were nosing for food amongst the garbage of an upturned bin.

Her stomach grumbled. She paid it no mind.

As to why the two women were about a block and a half from the Mute Duck without Korra: they were looking for a car to jack. Preferably an old make. Something inconspicuous. Although, there wasn’t much subtlety to what Asami was planning.

She spied a nice classic: orange and unattended. It looked lonely. "I want that one," she pointed.

Ginger looked that way. "We walked half a block for you to steal another car?"

"No one will notice."

Asami was right. No head's turned, because when you don't lock your car, it's fair game. She detached the steering column, crossed the wires and started the engine. She drove the car out of the drive-in lot and parked across the street in the bleakest back-alley she could find. She got out and slipped into the passenger side. Fiddled with the seat controls to push it all the way back.

All thoughts of caution now abandoned, she threw her hood back and grabbed the portable Matrix emulator—a small rectangle the size of a . Bumi, who proved to be as generous as he was jovial, had gladly given it to her. All such devices had a fiber-optic cable with a standard data plug like those found on home telecomm systems. She connected that to the goggles. Being extremely careful, Asami attached the first of a tri-cable skinlink feed to the car's red battery wire, the second to the goggles and the third cable to the back of her neck and wrists.

It only took about ten minutes.

In the end, she looked like she was leaking wires, when in fact the wires would be leaking her. How funny.

Before her mind could go astray, she checked her math to make sure she wouldn't fry a nerve. Turning to Ginger in darkness cut only by the dashboard glow, Asami smiled and asked if the other woman knew how to start a car.

Ginger eyed her cynically. "I suggest you forget what you're thinking about. I'm not touching a thing."

"You only have to start the car."

"There are no keys."

"Key's are overrated."

Ginger protested for a while longer, but Asami was insistent. Eventually, she slotted into the driver side, frowning and apprehensive. Asami snugged on the goggles and gave Ginger an encouraging look along with a thumbs-up. There was a brief pause before Ginger gave a three count warning before sparking the wires.

The wireless network antenna zinged to life, accessing the free WIFI from the burger joint.

The first electric shock traveled up Asami's spine, snapping waves of sensation through her, more effective than strong coffee injected straight into the vein. She felt a surging thrill, answered by a softer response, barely audible. A gasp. A dull hiss. Within moments it was as if she had been relieved of control of her body. She shut her eyes—premained that way for a long time—then broke into a wide grin as her body subsided. The wireless network antenna zinged to life, accessing the free WIFI from the burger joint. Nerves reawakened. She blinked her eyes open.

There was a brief flash of red as the goggles scanned her retinas, initializing the log in sequence. The following text appeared, superimposed in the center of her virtual display:

IDENTITY VERIFICATION SUCCESSFUL

**WELCOME TO THE MATRIX CAVE, SPeeD3MONeSS**

**YOUR LAST CONNECTION WAS 357 DAYS, 16 HOURS, 32 MINUTES, 23 SECONDS AGO. JUST A REMINDER: THIS BOARD WILL TERMINATE IN LESS THAN SIX HOURS**

The text faded away and there was the far off hiss of static cutting and sliding past as reality cascaded into oblivion.

And just like that, she was once again back in the hub of the cyber world.

Picture a large asteroid suspended in black space, it's surface thronged with dozens of queer shaped characters jetting around. Most dazzling or lackluster, others conspiratorial or carefree. There were humans, demons, cyborgs, zombies, chiba.

Anonymity was one of the major perks of the Cave. Broadcasting what passed for your real identity in the Cave was like showing up to a masquerade ball in a t-shirt and jeans. Not to mention a tacky lack of imagination.

If you could live life to infinite possibilities, why not take advantage of that?

The Matrix Cave welcome center was a safe-zone where users interacted without cause for trouble. It was a hive of activity. From where she stood, Asami had a sweeping 360-degree view of the surrounding cratered landscape stretching to the horizon in all directions, which was just a jagged green vector line.

An overhead of abysmally large proportions splashed infomercials and newscasts.

The Chameleon Bridge and the transport terminal were both clearly visible from where she stood. The terminal served as a transport between the many sector's of the lower levels. Sectors were the interconnected rooms that made up the matrix, and the terminals allowed the user to access parts of the system. Each sector was divided up into many different zonal pathways that varied in size and shape.

Such as:

Interactive sights(18+).

Gambling halls.

The Dark Cave, etc.

But traveling around wasn’t just costly—it was also dangerous. Especially if you got caught in a Dead-Zone accessway. No credits, no access to zones. Some sectors were so large that getting through the deeper parts of the system, such as the T-Grid, with only six hours of virt-time, wasn’t only impossible, it wasn't exactly ideal.

Suffice to say that she'd created a condition where her own biological system would not maintain its initial physical form factors for very long before she became the equivalent of smoked beef.

p>Asami looked herself up and down. Her digital persona, a red-headed, black-clad nightwitch stood within the almost (but not quite) real neon-green reality of the Matrix. Bringing up her UI (User Interface), she ran a quick diagnostic check through her avatar, running her fingers across her torso and thighs.

Aside from gear, her avatar only had a few possessions: a pathfinder, a repair kit, a dash-mesh, and a katana strapped to her belt(rarely used). Not much else she needed. Virtual tech was damn expensive, and she didn't need to be wasting yuan's on non-essentials.

Satisfied, she drifted into the crowd, and onto the surface of the bridge. Data flowed beneath it as if it were some immortal and fluid vein of the Matrix. She was dazzled by the variations in hue. Whoever had developed the bridge thought it would be a great idea to create an invisible floor. Below it was nothing but dizzying blackness, an abrupt end to the digital world, and the beginning of hurtling infinity.

She wondered how many coded blocks of accumulation went into creating such a structure, and indulged a momentary flight of fancy. Luckily, a bump of the shoulder cut through her daze.

Turning her attention to more practical matters, she found purchase in an uninhabited corner; opened an AR window. She thumbed a command to activate her AI, visualizing it next to her as a blue dragonfly bunny.

>At your service.< Gizmo announced.

>Please calculate the quickest route from the Matrix server to the FIT server through the T-GRID?<

>And what would you be looking for up there, wiz?< said a baritone voice.

She looked to her left. Landing next to her was the stylized, graphically computer generated image of a humanoid koi with white skin and orange blotches, a pair of brass googles atop his head, and a Dai Li firearm peeking over his shoulder. The impression of sheer ridiculousness enhanced by purple loose-fitting dungarees.

>Gommu< Asami greeted cheerfully.

>Fearless engeneer,< Gommu said, bowing theatrically. >Beentoo long, too long. I haven’t seen the likes of you in the Cave for ages.<

Asami grinned. >Gee, Gom, it's grand that you missed me so much.<

>Of course! Life’s been as dull as ditchwater here lately.<

>I like the fishy-dishy outfit you have there.<

Gommu checked out his own persona. >Took me a while to procure a skin this beauteous. You shoulda seen me in last night's Deathality 2 mission board. Yes, siree; highest ranked combatant.<

Asami just gave him a slight nod and he would keep talking. She had learned long ago that you had to let Gommu talk for a while. He had a habit of rambling, and could talk an ear off the most patient demikon.

Gommu was one of the very first high level avatar's she'd interacted with in the Cave. He was a lethal cyber-warrior with one wholly satisfying and all-consuming obsession: racking up XP. When he wasn't draining company data, stealing passwords and intellectual property, or generally making merry with sensitive information on Enigma, he was splurging in PvP tournaments.

They’d partnered for three months. Those were a fun three months. She didn’t know anything about who he was in the real world, but he insisted that he was even more handsome in person. Now he was just plain annoying.

He wove his hands theatrically, distracted by his story telling. She had a chance to step away, but might lose it if she took the time to politely disengage; but why bother being polite? She walked off while he was mid-sentence. Not at all that distracted, he followed and caught up to her avatar's long strides.

>That was rude.<

>Quite, naturally.<

>So, what'cha want in the grid, wiz?<.

>Treasure.<

>Treasure?< Gommu laughed boisterously. His laugh was great. >The shiny kind, or the helpful kind?< he asked.

>The very helpful kind,< Asami said. > I'm not sharing.<

>Hey, I’ve got this system rigged so deep I can walk through eight sectors with a marching band behind me.< Captivating bursts of confetti flared from his fingers. >Got some great new stuff this time,< he said, patting his satchel. >Great new stuff.<

>How big a marching?< she asked, genuinely interested.

Gommu regarded her with his usual calm. He was looking at her funny. Or was it just the fish head? Asami couldn't tell.

She shrugged. >How are you going to fix my problem?<

>Which problem?<

>T-Grid?<

>Oh!< Gommu snapped his fingers and dug around in the pouch on his icon. He presented a small white sphere—no bigger than a softball. Running his hand over the sphere, it took on a bright, yellow glow that spilled around them in a pool of pixelated light.

>Ta-da!< he mused.

Her eyes widened. > You're the one who took my stalker!<

>Technically, I borrowed it.<

A stalker was a customized program she'd used to hack the FIT satellite network. It wasn't exactly designed for that, but she'd coded it to hijack their connection and give her a back door through their quadra firewall.

Redundant mirror servers were located all over the world, but they were all linked to the main node in Republic City. She had the run of the entire network. No user ID, no restrictions, nothing. She could access anything, anywhere on the network of one of the most secure organisations on the planet.

Coincidentally, she'd lost the stalker around the time she'd last seen Gommu. The moment felt serendipitous now.

>You cunning bastard.< she said approvingly. >I should have known it was you.<

>Unless I’m much mistaken, wiz, we have a barter system.<

The mechanic's eyes narrowed. >I don't remember agreeing to that.<

>I can't remember brushing my teeth this morning, don't mean I didn't do it.<

>I bet you didn't.<

Gommu laughed a single, phlegmy bark, and slapped Asami on the back with more force than she could fathom. He tossed her the sphere.

>I've added my own touch of smartness to the sphere, so once you use the command, the sphere will zip back to me. Don't interrupt the process or you'll get shot into a Dead-Zone Acceseway. It's swarming with patches itchin' to jack your code. Now that's a whole lotta hurt nobody wants.<

>Thank you for your help,< Asami said ingratiatingly. >Anything else, stranger?>

>None.<

>None?<

>None at all.< Gommu chuckled. >I best skedaddle now. See you's around, wiz<

Asami waved him off as he disappeared into the crowd. Giggling, she eyed the sphere. It was such a wonderful color, so dynamic and interesting. > Gloomy,< she whispered, wondering if it was only some crazy effect of the _psyke_. She was extremely eager to begin; could hardly contain her excitement.

She meshed her avatar to the orb, keyed in the FIT private sector route and ran the **[execute]** command.

Before her mind had settled on the action, her feet slipped from underneath her and she fell!

*

It was forty seconds before the sensation of falling hit Asami.

Her image wavered as she blast through wave after wave of data faster than her icon could buffer. She accelerated effortlessly through the nearly invisible nodepath and then swung a sharp left as the orb brought her in high. Then dropped her again. She flung her hands out, trying to catch at something, anything, that might slow her spiralling descent. There was a blinding flash. She threw her hands up to shield her face.

A millisecond later, she thumped to the ground, hard, striking digital surface. Ungraceful? Definitely. Dizzying? Most certainly. And it hurt a lot more than she'd expected.

Above her was whole lotta nothingness, making her feel an intense sense of vertigo.

She tasted copper. Had she bitten her tongue? She could swallow about a pint of blood before getting sick. Weird thought, she thought.

She got up and shook off residual data. The sphere vanished, returning to it's not rightful owner. A minor afterthought that would be dealt with later.

As she processed every detail of her surroundings, she guffawed at the monolith before her.

A rectangular skyscraper innumerable stories high, starkly modern, with acres of triple-glazed glass strung together in shiny steel, and the FIT Industries corporate logo—giant, overlapping chrome letters twenty feet tall—floatig at the tippy-top. A legendary, eco-friendly skyscraper of sixty floors that ran on solar power. The replica mirrored the real thing to a tee.

She swiveled though revolving doors.

The interior wasn't like most lobby's. It was bare and contrary to Asami's memories as a child. She remembered it as a high-tech and immaculate place with a hundred feet of polished tiles between the entrance and mountain of a C-shaped reception desk at it's center. Lights were fluorescent. The ceiling was maybe eighty to ninety feet high. No seating arrangements. If you were waiting, then you were standing.

Whereas the copy, despite it's size, was occupied by one thing only: an elevator door. She headed for the elevator, boots clicking on the polished floor.

The inside itself wasn’t much to look at. It was basically a cube, about five meters long on each side. She rested her knuckle against the operation panel and slid it down. Nope, nope, nope, perhaps another time...bingo!

A tune sounded. The elevator doors closed. The elevator did not move. A tune sounded. The doors opened.

She stepped into the room. It was like a closet, only much larger and pale in comparison. No other rendered details, except for a terminal that granted access to the Implant Geographic Monitoring program. There was a flat screen monitor so broad and shiny that she could see her reflection in it. A variety of funny faces came to mind and she spent the better part of a minute goofing off.

Content with herself, she plopped in the swivel chair. A keyboard visualized and the monitor came on.

The IGM required five data points to initiate a search. She was, however, able to run the program with as few as two data points accurate to a current live prediction. She entered Blackstone Tattoos as the first entry. The Mute Duck as a secondary entry. Perhaps Varrick had in fact shown up that evening.

The program accepted both. Fifteen seconds later she had the location. And that was it. As easy as . She was back in the elevator. Then she had another thought.

She thumbed a button second from the bottom on the panel.

"Ding!" She mimicked.

The doors swung open.

The room she faced wasn't dissimilar to a library. Massive rows of long cabinets in sections that seemed innumerable at first glance. It was like a massive underground multilevel labyrinth, but she couldn't see the far end of the room because there was no far wall. It was endless.

Asami brought up a browsing probe, entered instructions and turned the probe loose on the vast network. A little blue rat popped up and scurried one hundred feet forward, twenty-five feet right, ninety degrees left...

She ran forward, following it.

Most of the floor looked like it held account data, coded in every direction from classified down to published reports and employee folders Little signs above the cabinets indicated the section.

Asami trailed the rat for a while towards a door labeled 'RESTRICTED' in a cheerful red. She waved her hand over the keypad. The door opened automatically.

Inside, the restricted archives room was even plainer, much smaller, and hosted rows of lockers stationed five feet apart. Something like a locker room at a gym.

She followed the rat along the halls of filtering data as it scanned the sectors one at a time. Halting before one particular locker in the distance, the rat raised up on its hind legs, sniffed, and twitched its whiskers. Asami touched the locker and it opened with a soft metallic click.

A name, written in neatly stenciled markingsz popped up:

SHENG LU TAO.

BIOSYSTEMS SPECIALIST & PHARMACOLOGIST.

There was an accompanying holopic of an auburn haird woman with sharp features, darksome eyes that glowed with cynical intelligence, and a hard set mouth.

Asami thought about the name of the doctor; it seemed vaguely familiar. But she couldn't remember where she had heard it before. After several moments she brought up Sheng's roster of achievements and credentials; it was quite long. She was quite an accomplished woman.

But then why, possibly, would she be involved with Dex? He was Mister Private; couldn't share anything for the life of him.

Asami circled back through her searches and started looking at the names in connection to the doctor, many of which were fellow specialists; many of which she did not recognize. Zero personal history.

Calling up another private file, Asami sorted through a series of redacted folders, and a particular folder piqued her interest. A single file, buried deep within a hidden directory set apart from the main file structure. It would have been invisible to anyone using the system with standard access, but she had bypassed all of the usual tools and browsers that she assumed FIT employees used to navigate their own system, instead delving right into the hidden archive structure beneath it all.

SUBJECT STEM17 (HALF-KELPIE) SUMMARY: Initial work with this STEM reveals satisfactory assimilation of basic parameters with excellent prognosis for future interaction in Pulse-K.

Asami made to access it.

ACCESS DENIED: CODE D1.

The D stood for Disavowed, meaning that the user file in question was encrypted, while the number that followed referred to the level of security required to access it. In this case, level 1 represented the highest possible level of clearance.

She was admittedly curious to know the secrets held within.

Her fingers moved spasmodically as she scrawled through a complex encryption program. Ten minutes later she had extracted none of the concealed text. The encryption scheme was unlike any she’d ever seen before. No longer worth the effort, she hit download and began copying the file to her server for patient dissection later.

_Download in progress…_

Whatever the file was, it was big, and according to the on-screen status bar, it was going to take several minutes to download in its entirety.

So there was more than enough time for a bit more snooping. Asami began shoveling files into her server, everything she could find about Sheng. And as she did so, it seemed to her that something was wrong. She couldn't define it for several minutes, but then it struck her when a wave of warm fuzziness washed over her.

Asami did not feel like laughing, but she laughed, with real mirth and tears coming to her eyes. Her head felt like a balloon attached to a string, floating high above her body.

She wondered where the strange music was coming from. It sounded flawed; there was a kind of intensity to it that was almost disturbing. Bright red lights flashed. She was growing jittery with energy she most certainly had to expel.

The music that had jarred her ears at first now sounded only sweet, and soon she went from jovial laughter to moving her own feet in dance. Time slowed. She began to flow and spin like sill, while strange color patterns flowed and shifted across her vision.

She felt marvelous.

Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. And she thought to herself that it was funny, it was all pretty funny.

Then Asami's gaze was drawn to the tinny red light trailing toward her, up her boot and to the center of her chest. This would not have a happy ending.

Before Asami could shout in alarm a blast of energy sparked and the ground blew upward, knocking her off her feet. There was a dull roaring in her ears as reality returned to her like the crack of a neurological whip.

Her vomit trashed the windscreen of the car.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yip. It's short. intentionally. Don't look so dissapointed. You'll turn that frown upside down in the next two chapters.
> 
> But I hope to get back to a steady update schedule pretty soon and hope you guys are having a good one.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Asami fell asleep against the wall in the alley.

She wanted to rest for just a moment. She shut her eyes and sank back with her back against the wall and her legs stretched out in front of her, trying to escape the exhaustion and the tension for a little while. It would be a long while. The events of the night were demons in her mind. To escape that, she thought of her parents; early mornings in the kitchen having. Breakfast. Her father would be sitting with the paper, shaking his head over the comments of Shiro Shinobi, the a markets reporter for the Republic City Press. Her mother would be manning the kitchen, lost in a hum of tune whilst wafting the air in scents most pleasant to an empty belly. Her brother would be late, as always, his boots thumping down the stairs in too much of a hurry. 'Late, late, late, late, late. How can I be late again?' Father and daughter would share their ritual smile over the kitchen table. It was exactly the place she needed to be. This routine, this haven, the safety of her family home overwhelmed her with terrible longing and she wanted to hear their voices, right now, tell them how much she loved them.

She carried on this imaginary design until sleep crept up and overcame her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm 16 chapters through. How crazy.

Meanwhile...

The temperature was dropping like a stone.

Not that it mattered to Korra. She was growing warmer by the minute, slowly, gradually, as if sneaking up on something as her neck, back, and chest seeped sweat, but she had to remember she was sweating out quite a lot of alcohol, as well. It crossed her mind to stop drinking.

The resounding sound of a slamming door shutdown the idea.

Kai had unceremoniously tossed Tongs in the back seat of his Wildtrak. Like every other smug drunk who chose to bare fists at a copper, it would be a night in a station house cell for him. Korra bounced on the balls of her toes, bracing herself for an expression of justifiable annoyance from her partner. Instead, he grudgingly crossed to the opposite side of the car and seized a willowy figure by the collar of their jacket, yanking them out.

"Ouch! Watch the hair!" A raspy voice vented complaints.

As soon as Kai dropped the owner on the curb, Korra knew exactly who it belonged to.

Skoochy. A low-level police informant.

Kai had popped him on a burglary when he was 15, flipped him, then he fell in with working for the police. Never stopped. He had a snub nose, sharp brown eyes, and dark brown hair. Traces of acne under the chin. He wore a thick jacket and ragged pants, with a cap on his head.

Now he brushed himself off irritably, clinking the restraints around his wrists, and looked up from where he was seated on the sidewalk. He glared furiously at Kai, who dismissed his informant and grabbed something else from the car—a dark green duffel bag. When he dropped it on the ground, it thumped like a ton of bricks. Korra could only wonder. She had an answer as soon he unzipped the bag. Not far-off on the brick assumption, the packets nested in the duffel weren't concrete at all, but looked an awful lot like...

"Ten keys of uncut Dust," Kai confirmed.

Korra peeked at the packets wrapped tightly in plastic. "It's so white," she observed under dim light. As white as snow. "I'm guessing you didn't order this at a drive-thru."

"I had a pretty productive day myself."

She glanced at Skoochy, who looked upset and agitated, t6i most likely cold. The cuffs wouldn't stop clinking under the constant fidgeting he exerted.

"Gonna fill me in?" she said.

"It's why I'm here," he said. "Remember the Nephillim who blew the bowling alley?"

She nodded.

Kai explained that the call to the bowling alley, from the day before had been more than a civil disturbance. The Nephillim in question had dropped concrete on half a dozen unsuspecting people. Identifier tag came back on a Kuon Shu. Seventeen. No formal education. Parent deity unknown. He had a day job at the bowling alley before he blew it to next Tuesday. According to the manager, he was an ideal employee, and he would do anything to help his clients. Now he was on a table at the RC morgue after a massive haemorrhage in the brain.

"From the damage done to the vessels, Jinora said his blood pressure must have skyrocketed. A stroke."

The last two words were spoken with weariness. Kuon must have been left in a hell of a mess to be getting a reaction like that from Kai. He was a homicide detective from a big city must have seen all there is to see. But now he was really shaken up. Korra prompted him for more.

"Jinora's still in autopsy, but toxicology found trace's of _psyke_ in Kuon's system. It's a dead ringer to Mako's tox results."

Korra ran a hand through her hair. Blew a sigh. "Did he have any more on him?"

"None. But it turns out he had a sealed juvenile record. Misdemeanor drug possession."

"Have you searched his place?"

"ID puts him living out in the Dragon Flats. A halfway house. I went over to check it out, and he," Kai gestured to Skoochy, "was coming out with the bag on his shoulder. Took off the minute I spot him. When do they ever run for good reason?"

Korra thought of Bolin, and felt a familiar emotion pressing on her heart, a weightlessness in her head, a sort of separation from reality. The trouble these kids roped themselves into flashed reminiscent fragments of her own poor choices at that age. Conscious of her heat, she put the packet back and pulled at her shirt collar. She felt like a candle with a very short, very hot fuse and feared she might be vibrating, and that Kai would notice.

She cleared her throat, said, "You didn't drop off at Narcotics first. That's a long drive from the Flats for a bar brawl."

"I was in the neighborhood." Kai fixed Skoochy with an intense stare. "Where'd you get the bag?"

Skoochy said nothing.

"I got a 16-year-old boy on the table, a bag of drugs, and a whole lot of maybes that don't make sense. I've just about reached the terminal level of my patience, so you're gonna lose the cocky act...and you're gonna get real honest. Real fast."

Skoochy leaned forward and whispered, "I'm feelin' a little slow today." Then he shrugged and clamped his thin lips. Wouldn’t say any more.

Excited and impatient at the prospect of new information, Korra advanced in a threatening and grabbed him by the collar, jerking the boy easily off the ground. They were face-to-face. He dangled. She let her heat sizzle, warm enough to run a drop of sweat down his brow. Skoochy looked around wildly. There was a lot of intelligence in his eyes. He glanced Kai over her shoulder.

"He’s not going to help you," she said. "You tell us what we want to know, and I drop the leash around your neck. So where'd you get the bag"

“And if I tell you?” he said.

She shrugged at him. “Depends what you tell me,” she said. “You tell me the truth, I’ll let you down. Want to tell me the truth?"

He wavered, sucking on his lip, sweat running down his brow. They were just standing there by the road. A battle of nerves. The longer he held out, the warmer it got, then he started babbling like his life depended on it.

"Okay, I’ll tell you,” he said. "Kuon was just a bloody tweaker. You'd never know it by lookin' at him, but the sod stoned himself almost every week. For nerves, ya'know? Cleaned up for his ma' a year ago. She got real sick. Not my business, so don't ask."

"Sounds like you were friends," Korra said.

"We wasn't friends." Skoochy shook his head. "We shared a room. Kuon liked to talk. He was a friendly sort o' sod. People liked to tell him things. That was good for me. I like to know things. It's good business."

"So are drugs," she said. The kid sounded like Varrick, that irritated her.

"Drugs are for mugs," he said.

"Like your friend?"

Skoochy's eyes flashed. His manner quickly changed, but he did well to hide the nerve Korra had inadvertently struck. His throat started working up and down, like it was too dry to speak. He couldn’t get any words out. Korra dropped him and stepped back, fists clenched. There was a mean gleam in his eyes. But he just backed off amd rubbed his neck.

"So what about the bag?" she asked him. "Where'd you get it?"

"It's nothin' but trouble," he said. "One night, a Thursday, Kuon dumps the bag o' Dust on me, jumpin' around like he was gettin' flooded with electricity. Crazy excited. I ask him where he got it. It was just a job, he says. Stay chill, he says. Now I'm thinkin', somebody's gonna come lookin' for this stuff. I lose that kind o' money, I'd want it back, only one crew peddles that much Dust. The Threats. But I'm still holding breath, so if Kuon ripped from somebody, it ain't them. So I decide to roll with it, thinkin', this is the easiest score ever. Quick bucks an' all. So we set up a meet with my bag guy. That was last week."

"So what went wrong?” Korra asked him.

"Kuon screwed up,” he said. "Yesterday, he rings me, tells me he just shot up. Said a lotta crazy crap over the phone. I didn't much care, so I dropped it because I didn't feel like babysittin that tweaker. All I had to do was show with the bag and I'd get the cash. Then this fucking—"

"Language," Kai reprimanded. "The next thing that comes outta your mouth better be useful."

"This sod," Skoochy corrected, pointing at Kai, "slaps the cuffs on and drags me here."

"Who would want to buy ten keys of Dust from a kid?" Kai asked.

Skoochy shifted from foot to foot. He was going to play hard to get. But he’d already showed his hand, and there was nowhere else to go.

"Who, Skoochy?” Kai said. "Tell me now, or we'll have this conversation through the bars of a cell."

"I got a guy," he said. "Maybe I should give you a name, but I don't have a one. Just a contact code. It's part of our deal. He's my bag guy. I drop some merch now again for cash."

"Describe him."

"I've never seen him. He's a walker. Keeps to shadow."

Kai asked, "Have you dropped off drugs before?"

"Never had a reason."

"Good. Now you're going to do something for me. You're going to set up another meet. Tomorrow. Canal Walk. Seven o'clock." When Skoochy bristled, opening his mouth to protest, Kai said, "Make him show, make it worth his while.. Got that?"

He unlocked the cuffs and clipped them back on his belt. No grateful exhalation. No rueful rubbing of my wrists. Skoochy didn’t want a relationship with Kai. He turned to leave.

Korra grabbed him. "Wait. Tell me about _psyke_."

"I don't care about no _psyke_ ," Skoochy said.

"Play dumb all you want, but your friend overdosed on that shit. It's dangerous and unpredictable and people are getting hurt. You and I both know there's no way you want that crap on the streets of your neighborhood."

Skoochy just shrugged. "New surf is always dangerous and unpredictable," he answered coolly. "That's what makes it good." He jerked back his arm and flicked the collar of his jacket with one of those disguised sneers. "It's a big city, copper. Take your pick on the shadiest mooch. Who knows, one of 'em might surprise you."

The kid walked away without another word.

_Take my pick..._

The city was like a gang buffet, but with the dappo shipment a critical piece of evidence she could narrow a guess to two likely crews.

The Triple Threat's claimed the downtown area as their outfit. The first of the gangs which terrorized Republic City at frequent intervals. They squatted every corner from the docks to Central City Station. If it was on their turf, they owned it.

The Agni Kai's had money, mojo, and muscle on their side, enough to rival the Triple Threat's. A bunch of brazen, adrenaline junkies just as likely to knife someone for eyeing them the wrong way.

Those two competed over the starry-eyed halflings ready to be jumped into gang culture, over the greed-eyed politicians, over lucrative smuggling runs carrying fetamin-only drugs, clip components and the specialized mechanics who souped up their cars. They competed over damned near everything, the way only volatile siblings could, and just like siblings, sometimes things got a little too rowdy, a little too violent. Thousands of gang members spread across the city. Thives, murderers, pickpockets, beggars, harlots, and degenerates of every type, all organized and loyal.

Problem was you couldn't have two rival gangs with the same penchant for recreational pharmaceuticals running the same city without expecting a little trouble. Narcotics estimated that over half the city's Dust came from The Threats Agni Kai's. On average, about every eight years, a new drug pops up that becomes the next big thing. If _psyke_ truly hit RC, they'd be stacking dead bodies in freezer trucks outside the morgue. But whoever was producing it wasn't leaking it onto the street yet.

The evening air was sixty degrees colder. Maybe more. The moon was higher in the sky now and smaller. A moon like that was a freezing moon. Even so, it wasn't snowing yet. The sky strained to unload but wouldn’t let go of its weight. Korra wondered why not, and suddenly the sense of disconnectedness was gone; she was back in the present, head clear.

Kai zipped his jacket all the way and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, hunched his shoulders so that his collar rode up on his neck.

"Why weren't you answering your phone?" he asked.

"It died."

"You plan on charging it?"

"When I find a charger."

Kai crossed his arms and gave her a look that reminded her of Tenzin when he'd scolded her. She didn’t know what to say. He didn’t wait for her to say anything.

"I saw Bolin at the clinic," he said. "He's pretty banged up."

Korra's heartbeat shifted up a gear. Did that mean he knew about Asami, too? The thought more than worried her, but she forced herself to try and accept the situation. Kai's expression told its own story. The look in his vivid green eyes had softened just a little. It wouldn't be so bad if he knew, she told herself. But he was already way out on a limb for her.

"Bolin's fine," Kai said after a long silence. "Kya has him under observation. You know he's in good hands."

"She fill you in on all the gory details?" Korra asked, her voice sounding hoarse.

"More or less."

"What did you tell Tenzin?"

"What he wanted to hear."

"He asked you to bring me in, didn't he?"

"He demanded. What do you think is stopping me from perp-walking your ass down to the precinct right now?"

"I didn't do anything I haven’t done every day on the job for the last six years."

“Maybe that’s the point."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She narrowed her eyes.

Kai looked straight at her. Not unfriendly, but very serious. "Nothing. I just need you to balance me on what happened last night.

"Sure."

As detailed as she could get, she gave him a rundown of last night’s events. The cool night air was making her more clear-headed, and the more details she gave him, the more interested he looked. As to how exactly she'd found Varrick was the one part left out.

"I kinda wish I'd seen the glass cage," he commented.

"Funny how everything else ran over the top of your head."

"You mean Varrick trying to get you to find his shipment for him."

"Correct: I’m going to find it," she said. "And I’m going to bring Varrick in, when I find him. He knows stuff he should be telling us."

"No kidding," he said.

"So what now?” she asked.

"I got things to do," he said. "I need to get Iroh on one side and fill him in with the details. Handle the Dust situation. Then I need to find out what that kid was doing with that duffel."

Kai's cell phone rang shrilly in his pocket. He took it out and answered. After a moment, he set it on speaker and placed the phone on the hood of the car.

"You're on, Opal. I got Korra here with me."

**[Korra? Is she okay? Are you okay? Where have you been? Everybody's been worried. Okay, maybe not everybody, Lin keeps bugging...]**

There were a tirade of questions before Korra could get a word in.

"Sorry to cut it short," Kai interjected, "but why are you at the office this time of night?"

**[I'm home, actually. And, after nine bags of Flameo flakes and an unhealthy amount of soda, you won't believe what I found on the Nephillim's phone.]**

"It couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

**[You said to call you if anything came up.]**

"Will it make my day?"

**[Definitely. You'll need a map.]**

"Wait one."

The detective's clambered into the car. It smelled like sweat and cheap liquor thanks to their companion in the backseat. Kai unfurled a semi-transparent map of the city onto the windscreen. Red dots shot all over the glass. After a moments glance, he used his finger to sketch a rough circle around one particular marker that caught his attention.

Location: UnaVaatu.

Korra leaned forward, every muscle suddenly taut. "That's my uncle's club."

**[His phone would ping there for exactly an hour every Thursday, from nine o'clock.]**

"No bowling alley employee is getting into UnaVaatu," Korra said. "No matter how smartly they're dressed."

 **[I never said he used the front door. We still have eyes there on the club through the mini-cam that we planted across the street.]** Static. **[I assume we're not going the warrant route.]**

"We don't have enough probable cause," Kai said. "Why?"

**[I also might have hacked UnaVaatu's private security feed. External cams only, I swear.]**

The two detective's looked at each other. Then, very slowly, Korra nodded. Kai shrugged his shoulders and gave Opal the go-ahead.

Sure enough the security feed came up for a camera mounted outside the back entrance of UnaVaatu. Nighttime. It was in color, but the quality was grainy. A guy in a hoodie and jeans walked up the steps to the back door. Light from above lit the top of his downcast head. No doubt his eyes were glued to the phone screen he held in front of him. All casual he pocketed the phone and knocked on the door, it opened, he was let in inside. Fast forward a couple minutes. Same guy comes back out nestling a brown packet under his arm. He nods once to the camera, enough to get a view of a thin dark face and a mop of dark hair.

"That's definitely him," Kai said. "Entered at nine. Left about ten. He leave alone?"

**[Every week for six months. He took the same route every night to west of the harbor, then he'd drop off radar and reappear an hour later in the exact same spot after roughly three hours.]**

"That's the western tunnel entrance," Kai said, tapping on the windscreen. "Not a nice place to be around at night. Why risk his life?"

"People do stupid things for money all the time," Korra said.

Kuon had a supposedly sick mother. Any child would want the best possible care for their parent. Korra asked Opal to check that out. Took about a minute.

**[I scrubbed his personal financials and found that Kuon left behind a winding trail of fixed cash deposits almost every week to a full-time care facility for the last year. None of them of the same amount, but all of them above at least a thousand yuans.]**

"What sort of facility is it?" Korra asked eagerly.

A full-page ad came up. It read:

Pohuai Pulse Center.

A network of expert physicians and oncology specialists provide care at center's throughout Republic City. Servicess include Pulse screening, diagnostic services, surgery, and individualized infusion services. Everything has been provided for you, all under the most expert management.

We Create Life. Today, Let It Be With Us.

It was expensive, from what Korra could tell. Expensive enough to have a kid hook himself right into a job with someone like Varrick for a quick payday. Making Unalaq the fabled partner Varrick loose-lipped about. Nighttime errands keep you under the cops radar and as far as she know, there was only one person skulking around those tunnels right now. It was dark down and grimy. No one went down there because of the zombies. But if you knew your way around, it was the perfect place for illicit activities. A perfect place to hide.

If she had to guess where Kuon got the _psyke_ , he might have snatched a bit for himself from Varrick. Nobody else she knew had it, so it wasn't too far-reaching to assume. Kuon sounded like a kid who thought short term. A make quick bucks sort of kid. A mindset that got him into trouble. Got him on the table.

The fact was that wise guys would steal anything, even stuff they didn’t want and couldn’t use, just because they could steal it.

Korra expressed all that with total certainty to Kai. Total conviction. Like absolutely no other possibility existed. He looked at her and thought about it, bit of a narrowed scrunch to his brow. He was about to speak when tbe guy in the backseat groaned and the most rancid smell filled the space. Korra crinkled her nose and Kai grimaced. The detective's found themselves outside, leaning against the hood of the car.

"This is what I get for not minding my business," Kai said, pinching his nose.

Korra laughed. "Whatever that guy ate should be a crime."

He chuckled. "Speaking of which. We're getting in pretty deep. I need some more background in the kid There are things I don’t understand, and I'm feeling a little annoyed."

"Yeah, but you like a challenge," she said with a smile.

He nodded to her and the phone in his hand.

After some general conversation, they said their good-byes to Opal, and for the first time since Kai's arrival Korra felt a flicker of common purpose. She felt she was getting closer to something. Like she was hearing a faint echo. Suddenly the low-level current in her body instantly kicked up a notch, and her nerves prickled as the hairs lifted on the back of her neck.

_"Follow my voice. Come quickly."_

Kai touched her shoulder and she jumped. He looked concerned. She stared at him. Her heart rate shot to a hundred instinctively and she was out of her seat just as quickly.

She stopped with the car door half open. "Thanks for trusting me. I know it's going to cost you."

Kai nodded. "For sure," he said. "Just don't make me regret it."

"No promises," she said with more confidence than she felt, and ran off without another word.

_I'm coming Ginger._


	17. Chapter 17

It takes human champion runners six and a half seconds to gain maximum speed.

On the ancient track of glory, the starter would tell them to stand tall. There would be the set command and then the gun. The first step lost in a flash of pounding blood and an influx of chemicals. Then in three dozen blinks of an eye, they'd shoot down the rubber asphalt track, feet striking the ground with a force equal to more than three times their body weight. A bang, an explosion of muscle and, less than ten seconds later, a winner. A prize at the end. And all they did was run. Stop to think about it, and there are so many things that have to go right to create the movement.

When you're not quite human, the bar is set a lot higher.

So even in her present state, with her back aching like someone had jammed a needle into her disks, Korra was in a full-on sprint. Her arms the pistons of a machine driving her on as adrenaline surged through her system, allowing the tangible wave of Ginger's aura to direct her.

Unlike the runs she so often made after a fleeing suspect, there were the rarer occasions she experienced when a life depended on how fast she moved; how quickly she intervened before an unfortunate outcome. A life in her hands.

A sudden, escalating dread rose up from the pit of her stomach, soaking the tethering connection between Ginger and herself. Korra couldn't tell whose it was and ran faster as instinct spurred her to the right, past a fast-food joint, when she caught a glimpse of something and her shoe skidded right out from under her. She barely caught herself and backtracked into the darkness of an alley.

From fifty feet she saw two indistinct figures huddled near an idling car. From twenty she saw what they were. From five she saw what condition they were in, her mind struggling to reorder expectation with reality.

The detective in her processed the scene automatically: the fetid smell of vomit, pebbles of broken automotive glass glittering in the neon on the driver seat from a shattered window, Asami slumped on the dirty ground with her back to the wall and her head on her knees, wires running from her arms to the car. So very still.

Now the hairs on Korra's arms were singing with alarm. She checked the mechanic's pulse and was reassured by a steady thud. She ran her fingers along Asami's scalp, and parted her hair, gently searching for any signs of injury. Found none. But it was dark, she couldn't be sure.

"We need to move." Ginger said. She sounded more irritated tham panicked. "It's getting cold."

Korra nodded, emigrated her jacket to the shivering auditor, then disentangled and carefully plucked the wires from the mechanic. She hefted Asami up with a great deal of strength and instructed Ginger to pack up what she could. They hustled back to the bar, scattering a pack of strolling dockers—one screamed after them. Then Korra was through the entrance; the party was still in full swing. Bumi was in the act of punching the cash register to ring up a drink when he stopped and stared at Asami bundled in Korra's arms.

"Get a bucket of water and a cloth."

He nodded without question.

They were in the office now. Bumi dropped the bucket on the floor, soapy water sloshing like the waves. The soiled hood found itself on the floor as Asami was lain on the desk baring a sodden vest and pale skin pocked in scars along the length of her arms and chest. There was very little talk as the auditor and detective wiped the crusted vomit off Asami's neck and face.

It was not a fun ten minutes. But finally, the job was done.

Korra settled Asami on the couch, draped her in a warm wool blanket and stood back, wondering how her night had gone to hell while she wasn't paying attention.

This felt like a major fuck up; mis-derected solely at herself. Seeing Asami unconscious a second time was a lot to handle. With the make-up scrubbed clean, Korra saw the regular features, hints of former beauty under the tracks of abuse.

It had been a selfish decision to tag Asami along a second time—no less than the first time. Korra wanted to keep her close in the hopes that she might learn more about the mystery surrounding the woman. Now she was having second, third and fourth thoughts about the decision. How many mistakes had she made yesterday alone?

But hell, Korra thought, if Asami Sato were every bit the intelligent woman whom Korra suspected she was, this stint seemed irrational at best. If it wasn't, it had to have been deliberate. She'd left, on purpose, without telling Korra. Not that Korra was anyone's babysitter. Asami could do whatever she damn well pleased. She was a grown woman who had known the risks when she offered to help. If she wanted to run off in the middle of the night, that was okay. Only it wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.

"Ah, Korra, sport, you're steaming up there." Bumi laid his hand on her shoulder, gently. "Hell of a night, right?" he said.

She wanted to argue, but sighed instead. Maybe she was a bit warm; there was too much adrenaline to tell as she pushed strands of sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes, taking deep breaths to pacify her heat. Then she came up with a small, wry smile.

"I'm okay," she said.

"Need a drink?"

"Bad idea."

"It's free," Bumi cajoled.

"And people say you don't have a sense of humor."

"No one says that." Bumi picked up the bucket, cloth and Asami's ruined clothes. "And if you don't want my beer, I got water, too. It's just as free."

She didn't.

Korra stared from the clothes, to the mechanic, to her own hands, and then looked at Bumi, his clear, light blue eyes a hard resolution. Then she bounced another glance around the room for the missing piece.

"Where's Ginger? I need to check on her."

That's when she heard sounds at the end of the hallway. A toilet flushing, a faucet running. She followed the noise to the bathroom and found Ginger scrubbing vigorously at her palms and fingers with soap.

"You're going to hurt yourself," Korra commented.

A startled jump. Ginger looked up only briefly, giving Korra a none-too-welcoming look.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Korra said. "Are you alright?"

"I don't like vomit."

"Who does, anyway?"

Ginger laughed hoarsely, shut the water and gripped porcelain. She shook visibly, trying hard to hide it, white-knuckling the sink. People reacted to extreme stress in different ways. Some crumbled, some powered through it with sheer perseverance and will, and others went a little nuts. Ginger's Express remained the same for so long that Korra began to worry.

"Ginger."

"A bit of quiet never hurt anyone, Korra."

"But you're—"

"Having a moment to myself before you lecture me about venturing into the night with a dark and brooding stranger."

Korra pursed her lips. There was an argument well within grasp of that statement. She had enough anger, justification and anxiety bubbling beneath the surface to explode. Her hands formed fists at her sides, then she shook them loose. It took a lot of restraint not to load off on Ginger, but Korra didn’t have the energy for a confrontation.

She relented to leaving the auditor alone, walked to the office, and stood guard at the door. Happy to keep on standing there for as long as it took. Ten hours or ten days or ten years. She watched Asami stir, mumble a stray word, go quiet again. Sound sleeper's tended to freak Korra out, and as Asami appeared such, Korra would run a finger under the mechanic's nose every ten minutes just to be sure she was still breathing.

She did that for ninety long minutes. Like shift work. Bumi came by with a bottles of water and a plate of sandwiches. A sympathetic look, then he left again.

Twenty more minutes.

More routine checks.

She wondered what Ginger was doing.

Fifteen.

Korra slipped a little, half awake and half asleep. Her muscles uncoiled, the adrenalin rush of earlier having long since thinned out. Still, her body hadn't cooled below simmer, and it wouldn’t take much to bring her back up to a boil. She could feel the creeping sense of disorientation as her exhausted mind lost its grip on the world. Images of Asami, of Mako and Ginger and Kuvira whirled around in her head, blurred together in distortion.

She was so tired. It was an effort just to keep her eyes open. If only she could rest for just a moment.

For just a moment.

_With blood painting the inside of the windshield, the ruined plane trailed smoke and steam from its shattered engine. Coming to rest within dense trees, it pitched forward, the passenger door swinging open on broken hinges._

Korra snapped back to awareness, heart pounding, primal fear coursing her veins, sweat coating her brow. Her breathing suddenly seemed too loud, and she felt like she was baking.

"Korra!"

She spun, exhaling a dragons breath of vapor, and faced Ginger—who had the most serious look on her face.

"Go home."

The instruction was clear.

There was an urgency to move, and took off outside like a woman possessed.

She ditched her jacket in a rush of anticipation for what was to come. She could see it all clearly in her mind. Another wave of heat washing through her, tearing through her clothes as she snarled, fighting it, resisting it as fiercely as though her life depended on it. She was running and growing warmer, running and growing warmer, running and clawing at the tightening pressure in her chest. It stung and she latched onto that pain, needing it to regain focus. She had to focus on the now, on the bare ground, on the steaming tufts from the sewers, on the stretches of illuminated pathway. On getting home.

Run it off. Run faster.

Run faster.

Run faster.

Run faster.

A mantra of sorts as she pushed her body to even greater efforts, trying to overexert herself, laying into the concrete. Pistons. Pistons of sinew and bone.

She could feel the sweat trickling down her face, stinging her eyes as a combination of heat and exertion took their toll. Her shirt clung to her back, hair plastered to her forehead. She ignored it all, just concentrated on maintaining her progress.

An hour later...

Korra didn't take an easy breath until she ran out of steam about a block from her apartment.

Her pace slowed as she reached the foot of her complex. She ascended the steps two at. Each one jarred her legs, sending shock waves through her tired and aching muscles. When at last she staggered to her front door, winded and exhausted, she realized she didn't have her key. The backpack.

She groaned and hustled down a level to barrage on the door of another apartment. A second later a woman opened up. She was tall and was more than 50 years old, grey-haired, green-eyed, ramrod straight and athletic. She looked like a person used to respect and obedience, somehow forbidding in a white tank top and grey sweats. And she was, of course, pissed at being woken at an unearthly hour of the night.

Korra smiled nervously. "Lin, hi. Sorry for waking you. I need my spare key."

A formidable frown. "Are you drunk?"

"Not really."

"Not really?"

"I'm not drunk. Can I get my key? Please?"

Lin looked at Korra as she bounced for a few moments, seemingly on the verge of rebuking her, then thought better of it. She disappeared for a second, reappeared, and threw Korra the spare key.

"Thanks. I'll return this tomorrow." Korra started for the stairs.

"You know you have to pay for losing the original." Lin called after her.

"I didn't lose it."

Up-top, she slipped into her apartment and kicked shut the door. She went straight to the bathroom, peeled off her clothes, and stepped into the shower. There she stood under the spray of cold water, nd let it play over her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her ribs, her chest. She raised one arm, then the other, then both of them together, creaking her back and shoulders.

The shower barely helped.

In the bedroom she dried herself off, put on clean underwear and padded half-naked into the kitchen.

From the top cabinet she grabbed an earthenware pot for preparing herbal decoctions and washed it thoroughly. Filled the bowl again, flicked the stove on, and let it boil. She grabbed a packet of herbs from the bottom cabinet, and a rip of her teeth freed them into the pot. She soaked the herbs in for about thirty minutes, then added in water to a level of about 2-3 cm above the herbs and boiled them over strong heat. When the water boiled, she shifted to gentle heat and let it stew for another forty-five minutes, stirring three times during decocting. She flicked the stove off, strained the decoction and poured herself a glass.

One gulp and it was gone.

Now she needed sleep. The entire night had been one adrenaline rush after another.

She settled herself on the couched and exhaled, hot and uncomfortable. Waited. It wouldn't be long now. It was about ten minutes. She had not eaten since breakfast a day ago and the leechleaf sluiced straight into her bloodstream. The buzz was pleasant and anesthetizing. It always made her drowsy.

She rolled left, rolled right, settled on her stomach, and a minute later she was asleep.

_Hell of a night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys
> 
> I've been away a while again. But I don't like to dwell in the past.
> 
> Part 3 is nearly complete and as the tempo rises, so will my attention to detail.
> 
> Which means part 4 will have much longer chapters, and will take much longer to update. This has been a massive challenge for me, and I'm grateful for all the readers who have patiently stuck with this fic.
> 
> Your comments make my day and I couldn't be more grateful.
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year soon enough.


	18. Chapter 18

Asami awakened with a start, reeling from a nightmare in which she was drowning at sea. She struggled to reassert herself, to rationalize the onslaught of false imagery manifesting in such vivid detail. Her head hurt like hell, and her mouth tasted metallic and bitter. Every nerve electric with fear, heart ramming against her chest. She shut her eyes.

Huge waves of pain were pulsing out between her eyes and boring straight back into her head with every heartbeat, lapping out into her skull and bouncing around and then fading and receding just in time to be replaced by the next beat. It was like waking up in the clinic all over again, only this time the brain fog wouldn't subside.

What did I do? How long have I been out? The stiffness in her joints suggested merely a few hours. Whereas, trying to remember only invited more pain. Her head hurt like hell. Her internal clock had stopped. So many parts of her hurt, it didn't seem worthwhile taking inventory of them. Sick and disoriented, she forced lethargic limbs to move, only to find herself tangled in sheets; but forceful nonetheless. She was on her feet. Everything in the room started to swirl, and the motion gave her a massive head rush. She couldn't help it; she was hyperventilating now.

Suddenly, the room softened to a blur, casting everything in a warm glow. For a moment Asami could not move. Something inside her relaxed. She drifted in tranquility, trapped in a calm and numbing place, feeling no pain, no fear, uncertainty. There was so much to worry about, yet she felt a new lightness in her. A voice, soothing in it's embrace, held her steady, goading her to melt into the cushioned embrace of the couch.

Her head still hurt, but her breathing felt normal. Neutral. Someone else was in control.

Asami reacted defensively.

"My, you're as stubborn as a monkey marmot. You'll feel a lot better when you open your mind to me. Calm down and relax. You'll feel a lot better."

She couldn't refuse, and soon enough was stilled into submission. Ginger standing over her with a satisfied smile.

"Marvelous feeling, isn't it? Now. Keep your eye on my finger."

Ginger moved her index finger toward the tip of Asami's nose, making Asami concentrate on it. Apparently satisfied with the way Asami's eyes followed her finger until they almost crossed, she nodded. The exercise made the mechanic feel nauseous again, but she didn’t mention it. "The wolf said to give you this when you woke up.”

It was a cup of hot chocolate. Asami looked at it with a hint of suspicion, then finally took it and gulped down a mouthful. It was ickeningly sweet, but she welcomed the sugar into her tired and bruised body. An offer of food knotted her stomach. Finally feeling a little less pathetic than she no doubt looked, Asami sank back against the couch, staring down at the fingertips of her left hand, her forearm, covered in pinpricks, the vest she wore.

Asami asked, "What time is it?"

"The morning after."

"Are you making fun of me?"

Ginger smiled. "A little. Best to lighten the mood after the mess you made last night."

"Oh," Asami responded, rubbing at her sore eyes. She didn't remember last night all that well. It was odd, disorienting. She remembered taking the pills and leaving the bar, but the images were hazy after that, and she couldn’t remember the order in which those things happened, or much after.

"Last night..."

"You don't recall?"

"No..."

"Not even breakfast?"

The question sent an electrical charge through every part of the Asami's body. The remnants of a memory sparked to life by some sudden damp chemical reaction, two compounds arcing across synapses and reacting like lead and acid in a car battery.

She remembered the fond memory. Only it wasn't just a dream. Neither had she instigated it herself. Amon she could tolerate, he was an unshakable grievance. But the sudden detrimental realization that another...well, she wanted to laugh when her immediate instinct was to run. Her nigh perfect buzz was crushed, and she was back to being paranoid, verging on hyperventilation. Again. Sweat started to form on the back of her neck, and saliva filled her mouth as if vomit was going to rise. For a second, Asami was aware that the mask had slipped. Her passive expression, open and neutral body language had changed as those thoughts flooded through her mind. Too many things were happening at once.

Her neural impulses were firing at breakneck speed. She shushed herself. Quite literally. What was this sudden skin crawling itch? Am I hallucinating? She pinched herself to be sure, only to rub the sensitive skin ruefully. Ginger watched her, eyes expressively amused, with a look that peered straight into her mind, reading the very thoughts Asami did not want anyone to see.

It was important to shift the hand of power in her favor. Asami didn’t like the idea of Ginger towering over her—so to speak.

Her next words came out on a breathy undertone. "You were in my head."

"I'm in everyone's head." Ginger rather casual, picked lint off the couch, eyeing it as if considering whether it was clean enough to sit on. "Yours is rather dark and murky. Like you're drowning." She perched on the arm of the couch. "Not to worry. Believe it or not, you still have secrets to yourself."

That was no comfort. As Asami knew from experience, a lie slipped off the tongue as smoothly as the truth from a drunkards lips.

_How much does she know? Ask her. Ask her._

"Is there any way to keep you out of my head?"

Ginger said, "It won't work."

"Have you ever tried to keep _yourself_ out of people's heads?"

Ginger stalled momentarily. A pressure point. Maybe a nerve? To Asami it was a exploitable distraction.

"I won't lie," Ginger finally said. "I have considered it. In fact, there is nothing worse than desperation. You don't want to know what it’s like when you can't turn off the radio in your head. When the premise of eventual madness is the only concrete assurance in your life. But," she added, "crippling a part of who I am is a great deal more difficult. The intricacy of my mind, it's unfettered connection to those around it—if I made even the smallest mistake in unraveling it, it could be damaged forever. And yes, to be like everyone else would be comfortable and reassuring. But some things just can’t be done. I was born different."

Asami was silent for a time, weighing up her next question. Another distraction.

"You're rather sane for an auditor," she said.

Ginger laughed. "And how many auditor's have you met?"

"None as interesting as you. How have you kept it up for so long?"

Ginger flashed that enigmatic smile once more and ngled her head and pulled back a strand of hair to showcase a silver snake cuff earring on her right ear. The lithe serpentine body slid down along the edge of the ear to where the head pierced the lobe.

"This keeps me rooted," she confided. "I'll eventually wear it out, perhaps in a few years time, but before then I intend to have my stunningly gorgeous face splashed across the front page of the Elemental Press."

"You sound hopeful."

"Well, I'm young—there's no time to be dreary." Ginger smiled a faint, wistful smile that was both friendly and disarming, and only then did Asami see a hint of the woman before her. Smiling came easily to the auditor, it seemed. _Or she’s a terrific actress._

Asami imagined Ginger on television, in an interview. The announcers asking her questions, that same smile prevalent under lens flare, an incredibly sensual woman with enough self-confidence not to take herself too seriously, the center of attention. Engaging a public that would only ever meet her through the screen and the cover of magazines; adoration fueling ego.

Asami supposed no one should give up a dream without giving it a chance to come true. But does anyone actually have the luxury of doing exactly what they want to do?

"Of course," said Ginger. "Look at Korra. She does what she wants all the time."

"You make her sound quite reckless."

"I'd say the same about you. The recluse with a penchant for danger."

"I don’t go around looking for involvement. I'm happy living quiet down here."

"You play the game of denial so defiantly, don't you?"

Asami didn’t need to confirm it; the auditor had surely probed deep and seen too much already.

"We might as well talk about it,” Ginger said. "I already know the pertinent details."

"This is my private life—"

"Yes, and I went for a ride through your personal demons. I heard your innermost thoughts. I felt what you felt. Guilt. Regret. Anger. Despair. Hopelessness. And a weariness that went soul deep."

"So then why do you smile and pretend to find this amusing?"

For a fleeting moment, Ginger looked uncomfortable. Then plastered on another smile that must have felt unnatural to her. She wiped it away with the palm of her hand and giggled behind it. "I suppose it isn't funny." She made a face. "You're not supposed to agree with me."

"Anything to end to end this conversation," Asami said, irritated by the throbbing in her head.

"I don't see how anyone would want to stop talking to me," Ginger said. "My rapier wit makes for thrilling conversation to the unquiet mind."

"Do you just wake up every morning intending to solve peoples problems for them?"

"Preparedness carries the day."

"Don't quote Kyoshi at me."

"You _like_ Kyoshi."

And that's how it went...

Naturally Ginger was a talker and Asami was a listener. Over the course of the last hour dozens of conversational intent seemed to tumble out of the auditor like a storm, personifying an inquisitive four year old dissatisfied with having her questions disregarded Politely and facilely, Asami lied.

She'd waited to see if the auditor would finally call her on her bullshit, but Ginger had been in no hurry to end their little game. Basically, Ginger never left her alone.

She stayed through the night, still talking, keeping vigil. Everytime Asami had winced, the auditor had left the room and had returned with a glass of water, asking if Asami was all right, did she need anything, was she feeling sick again? Of course, it was her head that hurt the most, but lying down would make her feel more vulnerable. If her physical weariness overcame her mental alertness and she accidentally fell asleep, she feared becoming even more of an open book. It was a matter of will, turning off the paranoia, thinking rationally, and, though her brain smoked with anxiety, she needed to have a quiet think. If she was tired or hungry, thinking was not on her mind at all. She had tested her stomach to see if it would reject solid food, feeding herself small bites of a grilled cheese sandwich offered to her by Bumi. She managed for a while.

Occasionally, her vague sense of unease quickly morphed into a lead weight in her stomach. This wasn’t going to work out. She had to get away from these people, this auditor in particular. Ginger was a problem to her carefully layered life of secrecy, with the potential know about her nightmares, her panic attacks, her deal with Amon.

She cursed herself for not keeping her skills sharp, the same skills that had kept her alive on the streets for all those years. You don’t break old habits for the sake of one lucky dip in the oil. She felt she should not have offered to help. Infact, she could find Noa on her phone. She knew how, she knew where to start, and just as quickly as the problem presented itself, she found a solution.

Within nightfall, she'd seek out the answers she desired alone. That was best. That was good. Always alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our girl's going off the rails a little bit. Even I'm getting a little nervous.


End file.
